Last Will and Testament
by hasapi
Summary: [COMPLETE] 'I, Lucius Xavier Malfoy...only in the event of Draco's marriage to Hermione Granger shall all funds be transferred to him.' After Lucius discovers where Draco's loyalties lie, he does the only thing guaranteed to make Draco's life miserable...
1. Where There's a Will…

Author's Notes: I'm going to mention here (and not in the disclaimer) that this story is very loosely based on a novel by Julia Quinn (It's called Brighter Than the Sun. You really should read it, especially if you like romance novels). I really only took one part from it, the will. Well, the will's content anyways. Julia Quinn didn't show us the will, just told us what was in it. But other than that, it's all mine. 

_[10/18/03] Reposted for grammar, length extension, and corrections to what is related to book five._

Pairing: Draco/Hermione. I think it's pretty obvious, so I don't mind telling you.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The idea (and VERY basic plot) for this fic came from "Brighter Than the Sun" by Julia Quinn. I don't own that. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter One: Where There's A Will..._

Draco Malfoy leaned against the headboard of his mahogany bed, glancing at the small grandfather clock on the far wall of the spacious bedroom. 12:07. He was meeting with his father's solicitor at 1:00 for the reading of Lucius' last will and testament. He sighed, looking up at the dark-green canopy of the four-poster. He wasn't even sure why he was going. After all, he was his father's only child, so it was a given that he would inherit everything. 

But when he'd said as much to Mr. Janis, the older man had hesitated, his aged face crinkling into a frown, saying, "I wouldn't take anything for granted, son." He'd shaken his gray head, given the younger wizard a half-smile, and taken his leave. 

Draco sighed. Mr. Janis most likely knew what he was talking about—and he obviously knew something Draco didn't. This was something that had always annoyed Draco. He hated it when people knew something that he didn't, because they always lorded it over him. This was why he always made it a point to know everything he could about a situation before he walked into it. He supposed it had something to do with the leftover Auror training that still embedded itself in his consciousness. 

Truthfully, he was a little scared. Lucius had discovered in the final battle that Draco's loyalties lay with Dumbledore, not Voldemort, and before he had been sent to Azkaban, the elder Malfoy had met with Mr. Janis. Draco could only assume that Lucius had updated his will, which Lucius had not done since, as far as he knew, Draco's birth.

Draco shook his head, running a hand through the light blond locks. He'd cut it relatively short, at least what would have been short according to his father. He wasn't even sure why he cared what his father thought anymore—the man was dead, after all. He had died within two years of his removal to Azkaban. "Good riddance," Draco muttered, standing suddenly and walking to the dresser placed a few feet away from the bed. He yanked open the top drawer, digging through socks and underwear unceremoniously.

He finally found what he was looking for—a picture of his mother. In it she was…happy, an emotion he had never seen her exhibit in all the time he had lived and grown up with her. The bright blonde hair he had always seen confined in a strict bun was flowing out about her shoulder and her eyes were laughing, the girl in the portrait winking and wrinkling her nose at him every now and then. He sighed, again wondering why he didn't keep it out when he seemed to look at it every day. 

He knew why, really. It made him think. It made him think about his mother, and that made him think about his father, and that made him think about their marriage… And that made him wonder whether he would ever get married, if he would ever enter the horrendous state that was considered 'matrimony.'

Draco slowly set the portrait back under the clothing, moving it so that the picture was covered. He closed the drawer and leaned his head against the top of the dresser, wondering what had made his mother lose that smile. Had it been sudden? Had there been one even which had changed it all? Or was it a slow, gradual process, so slow that she hadn't even noticed the change until it was too late? 

He didn't know why he was worrying. Everything would be fine.

***

Hermione Lynne Granger, twenty-three years old, five foot two inches tall with wavy brown hair that fell to the middle of her back when wet, sat on the edge of the sleek mauve leather couch in the living room of the apartment she shared with her friend, Elizabeth. She was staring at a sheet of parchment, her hair, which was loose, concealing her face; the sheet said in a fine, precise script:

  
  
__

Miss Hermione Granger, The firm of Janis and Gregory requests your presence at the reading of the last will and testament of Lucius Xavier Malfoy. You are named in the will. Please be there at 1:00 p.m. on Monday the 28th of February.

Sincerely,  
Mr. Edward Janis

  
  


Hermione still had not decided whether or not to go. She looked at the clock. 12:31. She had less than half an hour. She had no idea why she was named in the will. There was no reason for her to be, unless the elder Malfoy had decided to curse her one last time or something. He'd done that often enough, of course, throughout the war, but perhaps he had decided it wasn't enough. She knew she would never stop cursing him, whether it be in the privacy of her own mind or out loud.

But she'd never know what the will was about unless she went. Her roommate has been very adamant about it.

"'Mione," Elizabeth had insisted on making up a nickname for her the second they'd met, despite all her protests, "just go. I know that the Malfoys hate Muggles and Muggleborns and everything, but what if… I don't know, but what if he's left you some money? You know that job at the Ministry doesn't pay that much, and you've been working there for three years without a promotion!"

Hermione sighed, remembering her friend's words. It was true. She hadn't realized when she'd applied—and then accepted—that it was a dead-end job. But then again, any employment in the Ministry was hard to come by. She was afraid she'd been a bit like Percy when she'd started—eager to please, and not caring when she was stepped on (figuratively, of course). So now everyone took it for granted. Only it was worse than Percy, because she was a woman as well as a Muggleborn, both of which were discriminated against quite a bit. 

The whole discrimination thing bothered her, and she would have done something about it—had she had any time. The job took up too much of her time, and she was paid the same wage even when working overtime—no time-and-a-half for Ministry employees, no sirree…

At least she had Jeff. She smiled at the thought. He, too, had attended Hogwarts, although he had been a Ravenclaw, as well as two years above her. She didn't remember him from their schooldays, but then again, she hadn't fraternized with very many people outside of her house or her classes. They had officially met at the Ministry, at a small get-together that was being held in honor of the first anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, and had been going out for almost two years now.

Despite the talk to the contrary (they had been dating for two years), they hadn't slept together. She'd been tempted—oh, yes, definitely tempted. Viktor Krum, the summer after her fourth year; though he hadn't tried anything…untoward, they had been getting rather close when she had panicked. Ron, during their short romance in sixth, had apparently not been much better than any other teenage boy in terms of controlling himself. Seamus, with whom she'd dated for a six-month period in seventh, though she had to admit she had come closest with him. And, of course, Jeff. But she'd always said no. And luckily, they had always respected her wishes. 

Hermione was relatively certain that Jeff was going to ask her to marry him soon. After all, they'd been dating for two years. Surely the next step was marriage? She knew he thought the next step was sex, but he hadn't pressured her, or even asked, actually, for at least two months. In her opinion, he was not only respecting her wishes, but letting her get used to the idea of them together. There was also the fact that she had heard from a very reliable source (never mind it had been overheard from one of the gossips at work) that Jeff had been seen in the jewelry store in Diagon Alley. She glanced at the digital clock readout again. It was 12:58; time to decide.

The twenty-three-year-old Muggleborn witch stood, concentrated—and then she was gone.

***

Draco walked into Mr. Janis' office, a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. There really wasn't anything that could explain such a feeling, since Mr. Janis always made sure to keep the atmosphere in his office light and airy. Normally Draco was very calm and collected, but right now he felt quite the opposite. Two seconds later, that feeling seemed well placed when he saw Hermione Granger, bushy hair and all, seated in front of Janis' desk.

"What are you doing here?" he sneered at her. She was wearing a deep burgundy robe that was very loose—it probably hadn't been tailored—and her bushy hair was knotted at the base of her neck, a few stray tendrils coming out to rest against her neck. It was the hair that threw him off, as he had never seen any of it come out of her bun. She had always reminded him rather eerily of McGonagall, especially when he'd seen her at the Order of the Phoenix meetings after their graduation.

She turned around and glared at him, her brown eyes flashing. Draco knew that look; usually it came just before she made a snide remark about his heritage or speculated on how far inbred he was. Before she could speak—for which Draco was truly grateful—a voice spoke up behind him.

"Miss Granger is here at my request, Mr. Malfoy. It seems she was named in your father's will." Draco's eyebrows went up. Mr. Janis—as that was who had spoken—continued, his voice almost bored. "Would you please take a seat, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco sat in the only chair available—it happened to be next to Granger. Mr. Janis walked behind his large, immaculately clean desk (lawyers were rather scary in that way, especially Janis), setting a stack of yellowed parchments down on the glossy surface. He smiled at them and leaned back in his chair; Draco would have sworn the black he was wearing were starched, as he faintly heard a crackle as the material bent beneath its owner's weight. 

"Now, one other person was supposed to be here," Janis glanced at notes written in a small, meticulous hand, "a Miss Pansy Parkinson. But I'm afraid she was unable to make it, as she is in Greece on her honeymoon." Mr. Janis smiled, blue eyes shining with feigned happiness (though some would contribute it to old age). "Therefore, we will begin."

Mr. Janis cleared his throat. "I need both of you to sign a waiver, indicating that you will not contest anything in the context of the will or make any attempt to change it, either by force or strength of will." He opened a drawer, pulling out two sheets of paper, and handed one to both Draco and Miss Granger. The latter frowned, perusing the article in its entirety, while Draco looked bored and raised a brow at Janis, waiting for the lawyer to hand him a quill with which to sign. 

Janis' mouth twisted. The Malfoy boy was growing to be much like his father, whether he knew it or not. Just as demanding, and no less forgiving. Like father, like son. Janis handed Draco his quill, pushing the bottle of ink towards him. Draco signed it with a flourish, doing some odd squiggly line with the y at the end of his last name; Janis had seen Draco signature—and seen the boy sign it—enough times to know precisely what it looked like even if it was upside-down.

Draco returned the quill, deliberately ignoring Miss Granger's outstretched hand. Janis handed it to her, raising a brow at Draco. Normally he was a nice-enough man, especially to women. Janis could only guess what it was about Miss Granger that made Draco hate her so. He would have thought her to be Lucius' mistress, but having read the will… Well, he supposed it was still possible, but he knew Lucius—better than he would have liked to, actually.

Janis collected the parchments and set them in the right corner of his desk, closest to him. He opened the will to the first page, and began to read.

"_Section 1.a._

"_I, Lucius Xavier Malfoy, in the event of my demise, leave all titles, properties, and lands in my possession to my son, Draco Lucius Malfoy._"

Hermione rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair as Draco smiled. At least she wouldn't be sitting here for that long, as Lucius would probably leave everything to Draco before cursing her one last time. At least the lawyer seemed nice enough. It was a small allowance, but better than nothing.

"_Section 1.b._

"_However, only in the event of his marriage to Miss Hermione Granger shall any and all funds in my name be transferred to him._"

Draco gaped, his brow furrowing with confusion, shock, and rage. Surely his father couldn't do that? It just… It couldn't be legal, to bind your son to an arranged marriage without his consent, and certainly without his knowledge! It had to be illegal.

Seeing their disbelieving expressions, Mr. Janis spoke. "Yes, he can do that. I'm afraid this," he tapped the will with a short finger, "is completely legally sound. And before you get it into your heads that you might marry and then promptly divorce as soon as the funds are transferred, Mr. Malfoy has prepared for that as well.

"_Section 1.c._

"_In the event of their divorce, all funds previously in my name shall be transferred to Miss Pansy Parkinson._"

"I don't see the point of any of this," Draco spat, his voice hard and cold. "I have money of my own. And I can sell the property that he left me." There certainly was enough of it that he'd never even been to. The property in Wales alone would be worth well over a million galleons.

"Actually, Mr. Malfoy," the solicitor said calmly, as if very used to dealing with irate young men (which he no doubt was), "you can't. Besides, do you know how much the upkeep of those lands costs?" He flipped through the will, looking for something. "Ah, here it is.

"_Section 3.d._

"_Any and all lands previously in my name may not be sold for profit unless the requirements in Section 1.b. are met._"

Draco stared at the older man, anger boiling in his stomach. He slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, glaring at Granger. She seemed as shocked and horrified about all of this as he was, her hands clenched in her lap while she narrowed her eyes at Mr. Janis—but she could not possibly be as angered as he was. He was incensed that his father would do such a thing to him, his only heir! "I don't understand why he would do this," Draco said quietly, anger evident in his voice. 

Mr. Janis nodded thoughtfully, his short gray hair shaking ever so slightly. "Yes, your father thought of that, too," he said slowly, sounding out his words carefully. "He told me to give this to you if you had that reaction." He handed the younger man a piece of parchment, folded lengthwise.

Draco opened it slowly, a foreign emotion that he dimly recognized as fear rising in his stomach, and began to read.

  
  


Draco,

I am disappointed in you. Did you think you could get away with it? Spying for Dumbledore. How do you think it felt to realize that my son was a traitor to the Dark Lord, as well as myself? Well, seeing that you have dug your hole, as those Muggles you seem to be so fond of say, now you must lie in it.

Your father (though it pains me to admit it),  
Lucius Xavier Malfoy

  
  


Draco's grip slackened on the sheet of parchment, but Mr. Janis grabbed it before it could fall, looking at him calmly. How could he be so calm? Draco wondered silently. His whole world was caving in around him, and Janis was acting as though they were at Sunday brunch, discussing the latest mystery novel by J.R. Brown. Suddenly the older wizard smiled. "So," he said, "shall we finish the reading, then?"


	2. The Importance of Being Funded

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The idea (and VERY basic plot) for this fic came from "Brighter Than the Sun" by Julia Quinn. I don't own that. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Funded_

Hermione didn't hear the rest of the will. Not that it would have mattered if she had. Most likely, Section 1.b. (and Section 3.d., indirectly) was the only place she was mentioned… Or at least where it would be relative. She imagined that if she were mentioned anywhere else, it would be, as she had imagined, his last chance to curse her. 

At least, she calmed herself, it didn't say anywhere that she had to marry him. It only said that marrying her was the only way Malfoy would inherit his father's money. So that meant that he had to marry her. And there was no way that she would marry him anyways. She was, in all probability, going to marry Jeff. He was bound to be asking her at a point in the very near future. The thought gave her a tiny, satisfied smile.

Draco glanced over at Granger, his lip curling as he noted her smile. He glared at her, scowling. Why would his father do this to him? Oh, that's right. Draco cringed inwardly. He wished his father had never discovered where his son's loyalties lay. Then he would not have to worry about choosing between marrying a Mudblood—okay, fine, Muggleborn…stupid political correctness—witch or becoming bankrupt.

That was what would happen if he did not marry Granger. He knew how much it cost to keep everything running smoothly on all of his father's properties, and it wasn't pretty. The Malfoy fortunes, however, had been vast, and there was barely a dent from the cost.

His fortunes, however… they were nowhere near that large. He had inherited quite a bit from his mother's side of the family, and invested it. The profits were modest—at least for the Malfoys—but he knew they would not last more than a year, and much less if he tried to keep up appearances. He shook his head, scowling. Why wouldn't Uncle Bernard just die already? He'd lived for a hundred and seventy years. Wasn't he going to die anytime soon? Then he'd be fine. Then again…

Knowing his father, Lucius had probably prepared for that possibility as well.

So he had to marry Granger. There was no other way—his father had made sure of that.

***

"Well, that concludes the reading of Lucius Xavier Malfoy's last will and testament. I hope you all have a good day," Mr. Janis smiled, and was out of the room before you could say, "Quidditch." It was almost as if he knew what was going to happen. Then again, he probably did. He was, after all, a lawyer.

Hermione stood, getting ready to leave the office. Malfoy put a hand on her arm and smiled at her. She knew that smile; it was the one behind which his mind was working furiously to devise a steel trap with no escape. And that hand? It wasn't exactly doing anything to calm her already overactive imagination. Well, he wasn't going to get her. Not now, not ever.

"So, Granger, what do you say?" Malfoy asked pleasantly. Quite honestly, she had never before heard him use that voice. 

"Is that supposed to be a marriage proposal?" She cocked a brow, waiting for his answer. 

He scowled at her, dropping the façade with a bang. "You know very well it is. You are going to marry me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you, Malfoy," she replied coolly, keeping her voice low. "You may have been brought up expecting people to jump to do your bidding, but I was not. I answer to no one."

He could find nothing to say, a state that thoroughly annoyed him and left him nearly snarling at her.

Hermione smiled smugly, sweeping out of Mr. Janis' office, leaving a fuming Malfoy behind.

***

Hermione had a hard time not laughing as she walked away from Malfoy. It was so funny how he really seemed to expect her to do whatever he wanted at the drop of a hat—and the expression on his face when she refused him! That had been hilarious, and she had a feeling that did not happen very often.

She'd have to ask Pansy about that when the girl got back from her honeymoon with Harry. The two lovebirds had met at the Ministry (Hermione had invited Harry to one of the Ministry balls, and Pansy was an Auror), and had gone out for two months before Harry proposed. There had only been a month after that to get ready for the wedding.

Hermione hadn't been all that thrilled when her best friend had started to date the former Slytherin, but at Harry's urging she had gotten to know Pansy better, and they were now good friends. Ron had been harder of course, probably because his prejudice against Slytherins had begun in childhood, while Harry's and Hermione's hadn't started until early adolescence. Or perhaps it was just in the Weasley nature to be stubborn.

Thinking of the Weasleys (not to mention stubbornness) brought Ginny to mind. Hermione's heart cried out to the younger girl—really a woman now, she supposed. Ginny had just gotten out of a five-year marriage to Seamus Finnigan. The two Gryffindors had married almost as soon as Ginny had graduated from Hogwarts, leading many to believe that the youngest Weasley had done the deed a wee bit early and got herself pregnant.

However, Seamus and Ginny had not had any children during the duration of their marriage. Many believed that was the reason for the divorce, and in this case, "many" was right. Seamus had always been very vocal about wanting children, and there was little doubt that he had been extremely disappointed to find himself in a five-year marriage with none of them. 

Ginny was depressed, to say the very least. She had wanted children almost as much as her husband and Hermione knew it must have been as devastating to her as it was to Seamus. The odd thing was that had disappeared after the final hearing on Monday morning, and hadn't reappeared until the next afternoon when she had shown up at the Burrow. She hadn't left her childhood home since that day, and hadn't told anyone where she'd been.

Hermione was very worried about Ginny. They hadn't talked at all—and she considered Ginny to be her best (girl) friend. She'd always thought Ginny felt the same way. It had been almost six weeks since the divorce. She hoped Ginny would open up soon, because Hermione was almost completely positive that she was getting worse, both physically and emotionally. She'd even put on a little weight. 

Hermione shook her head, thinking, "Not good," before Disapparating with a loud "Pop!" right into her living room. "Elizabeth!" she yelled, "I'm back!" She fell back into her chair and sighed, closing her eyes. 

Elizabeth Pearson bounded into the living room, a large smile on her face, a light blue scarf wrapped around her neck. "So?" Elizabeth asked excitedly. This girl was always happy it seemed, such an odd contrast to Hermione, who was sometimes horribly monotonous about everything. Everyone was amazed the two were able to share an apartment. 

Elizabeth's priorities were thus: clothes, men, French fashions, men, work (which just happened to be fashion design), and, oh yes, men. Sometimes Hermione questioned her own sanity for living with someone so single-minded. But it was almost impossible to find a good apartment for a cheap price in the Wizarding world, so here she was, splitting the cost of an apartment with Elizabeth Pearson, fashion designer extraordinaire. Well, Hermione did at least have someone who knew what went with what, and what make-up to wear, even if she didn't use that fount of information very often. 

And sharing the flat with Elizabeth wasn't that bad. Sure, the girl ogled her boyfriend more than she liked, but so far as she knew, Elizabeth hadn't made any moves on him. Elizabeth may have been a self-confirmed lover-of-men, but she wasn't one to go after another woman's boyfriend, especially her roommate's. Things like that had a way of exploding in one's face, as Elizabeth had said wisely during one of their nighttime talks. More importantly, however, Hermione trusted Jeff, and she knew that he would never do anything to harm or hurt her in any way.

Hermione snapped back to reality and attempted to smile at her roommate. "Well…" she trailed off, sighing. "Apparently, Lucius Malfoy made a clause in his will after he found out that his son fought for the light. Draco will inherit all the property, lands, and titles, of course, but the Malfoy fortunes…" she trailed off again, unwilling to speak of it. "Let's just say that Mr. Malfoy was none too happy to find out about his son's loyalties to Dumbledore and leave it at that, okay?" Hermione smiled brightly, trying to think of something to change to subject to.

Elizabeth rolled her blue eyes, the curls in her blonde hair bouncing as she shook her head. "Yeah, right. Like I'd ever let you go after you made it sound so interesting." She clucked her tongue impatiently. "What was the clause? And don't try to lie; it's obvious it has to do with you, what with the way you're avoiding it and everything."

"He has to marry me," Hermione mumbled.

"What?!" Elizabeth gasped. She certainly had not expected THAT. 

"I said, 'He has to marry me,'" Hermione repeated loudly.

Elizabeth's mouth was agape, her curls still and her eyes frozen on Hermione's face. "But…but…" she sputtered, unable to form coherent words. 

Hermione's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Yes. I know."

"Jeff," the blonde finally gasped out, sending the curls bouncing again. She shook her head furiously. "What about Jeff?"

Hermione sighed, putting her head in her hands. "I don't know." She looked up, still resting her chin. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm not going to. Marry him, I mean. He can't make me," she said firmly.

Elizabeth nodded, but she didn't look convinced, blue eyes narrowed in thought. "'Mione, I hate to mention this at this time, and don't think I'm changing the subject or anything, but… the rent is going up again. Now, my salary is fine, because it's going up as well, but yours hasn't increased since last time minimum wage increased, and we've already figured out that it's not going to for quite some time."

"Well," Hermione said slowly, "do you think you could pay more?" At Elizabeth's raised brow, she quickly continued. "I mean, just for a little bit. I'll find a second job or, maybe I'll get a promotion."

"You know as well as I do that's not going to happen." Elizabeth sighed. "Look, 'Mione, I didn't want to mention this, but I'm going to have to move soon."

"What? What did you say?" Hermione's mouth hung open and she dropped her hands, sitting straight up. Elizabeth had never mentioned this.

"My boss wants me to go to the France outlet of Madam Malkin's. They think that I could do a lot of good there, and it comes with an awesome pay raise," she said while playing with the cuff of her shirt, eyeing it with a look only a fashion designer can have. Her blonde curls were falling in her face, obscuring her blue eyes. "I just found out today."

Hermione sputtered, blinking furiously, "But you can't leave!"

Elizabeth sighed again, looking up and meeting Hermione's eyes with an apologetic smile. "Actually, I can. I'm really sorry, 'Mione, but I can't refuse an offer like this. I'll be gone in three months."

***

Hermione stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. So Elizabeth was leaving. The girl had been one of her closest friends and confidantes since they had moved in together when she had started her job at the Ministry. They'd known each other at Hogwarts, but they hadn't exactly bonded during those years.

Elizabeth Pearson had attended Beauxbatons until her sixth year, when she'd transferred to Hogwarts because of the war. She had actually grown up in England, but her French mother had wanted her to attend Beauxbatons. Both her parents had decided that Hogwarts was the safest place for her when it had become clear that Voldemort had returned.

She'd been sorted into Hufflepuff, and had made friends quickly. Her easy-going nature, knowledge of French fashion (especially during the Dark times, as they had come to be called), and good looks helped her make friends in every house and every year. Pansy Parkinson, Lavender Brown, Lisa Turpin, Orla Quirke, Laura Madley; not to mention all the boys falling over themselves to ask her out.

The only boys who'd never gone after her were Harry and Draco Malfoy. Her best friend and her worst enemy; respectively, of course. She knew that Harry had never really noticed Elizabeth because during his sixth year they'd been much too involved in the fight against Voldemort. 

Draco Malfoy however… Hermione had no idea why he'd never noticed Elizabeth. She had seemed to be precisely his type. Everyone had thought that they would get together. Neither of them had ever had any serious relationships before, and they hadn't had any since they'd graduated. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if those people she classified as the "hopeless romantic" type still thought Draco and Elizabeth might get together. 

Hermione frowned. The thing that bothered her most was that until her revelation, Elizabeth had acted as though she'd be staying forever. Well, perhaps that was why she'd wanted Hermione to go the reading of Lucius Malfoy's will—she might have inherited some money, and then Elizabeth wouldn't have worried as much about leaving. Elizabeth, was, after all, the primary source of funding for the apartment they shared.

She really wanted to talk to her best friend. Hermione stood up, suddenly energized. She would get Ginny out of her shell today! Maybe she'd even get her down to the gym to work off some of those extra pounds she'd gained. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, grabbing her wand. She was still ravenously curious as to what had happened between the divorce finalization and when Ginny had shown up at the Burrow. But then again, if she had her way—and she would—it wouldn't be long before she knew.


	3. Secrets Uncovered

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The idea (and VERY basic plot) for this fic came from "Brighter Than the Sun" by Julia Quinn. I don't own that. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Three: Secrets Uncovered_

Hermione knocked on the door of the Burrow, waiting impatiently for someone to open it as she crossed her arms to ward off the May chill. She loved coming here. It always felt like coming home, no matter what. The Weasleys' home was nice like that, it always had been, even after she had broken up with Ron the second time. Lucky for her, Ron hadn't stayed at the Burrow, and Mrs. Weasley was always understanding.

The door was opened gently, and Hermione was greeted by a large hug from Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione!" she smiled, leaning back. "I'm so glad you're here. We haven't seen you in a few weeks now."

Hermione smiled. Mrs. Weasley had that effect on people. "I know, Mrs. Weasley, but I've been very busy lately."

The older woman nodded, opening the door and motioning for Hermione to come inside. "Yes, that job of yours does seem to keep you busy," she said. Mrs. Weasley did not believe that Hermione's job was fitting for a woman of her intelligence. 

"Where's Ginny? I wanted to talk to her," Hermione said, walking into the house. 

"Ah," Mrs. Weasley paused. "She's in her room. She hasn't talked to any of us in days. She comes down for meals, but that's it." She sighed. "I'm worried about her. Even Fred and George haven't been able to get her to speak."

Hermione nodded, her lips twitching at the thought of Fred and George trying to get Ginny to talk. "I know, Mrs. Weasley. She hasn't talked to me either. But," she said, straightening, "that won't be true for long," and marched up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Weasley say a soft, "Good luck," and she smiled. As soon as she reached Ginny's door, she knocked loudly, twice, before opening it. 

Ginny was lying on her bed, facing the window. Her room was mostly clean, but there were a few dusty volumes sitting out. Hermione squinted, trying to make out the titles. She could see _Magical and Muggle Ailments: The First Combined Desk Reference_, and _Knowing What's the Matter: A Guide to the Witch's Body_. 

"Gin?" Hermione asked, moving to her friend. As she neared, she could make out tear streaks on the younger girl's cheeks. "Ginny, what's the matter?" she asked worriedly, reaching out to rub Ginny's arm soothingly.

The young witch sniffed audibly; Hermione could feel her shaking slightly. "'What's the matter?'" she mimicked coldly. "There's nothing the matter."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It's obvious that something's not right, Gin. I'm not leaving until you tell me what it is."

Ginny sighed and rolled over, looking at her friend. She gave Hermione a small, sad smile before getting up. She walked over to the dusty volumes Hermione had seen earlier and picked one up, flipping through it. "You can at least make sure," Ginny said. She laughed bitterly, "Of course, I've already done it at least fifteen times; I doubt there's any mistake."

She handed to tome to Hermione, and the bushy-haired brunette looked down at the words. _Are You Pregnant? A Simple Spell is All it Takes to Know!_ Hermione looked up at her friend, her eyes wide. 

Ginny nodded. "Yup. I'm pregnant." She sighed. "Gods, why me?"

Hermione hurried over and hugged her friend. "Oh, Gin, I'm sure it will be wonderful. I'll help you as much as I can. Have you told Seamus yet? I know you two were trying to get pregnant for so long—"

Ginny laughed bitterly again. "It's not Seamus', Hermione. We haven't slept together for six months, ever since we started the divorce proceedings."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. She had never expected Ginny to sleep with anyone she wasn't married to. "Whose is it then?"

Ginny sat down on the bed again, staring at her feet. "Do you remember how I disappeared after the divorce was finalized, and didn't reappear until the next day?"

Hermione nodded, sitting down next to her friend. "Of course I do. That was one of the things I was meaning to ask you. What happened, I mean," she corrected herself.

"I went to a bar to get drunk," she said bluntly, looking up at Hermione. Her eyes were hard. "I don't know how much I drank, and I barely remember anything. All I remember is waking up the next morning, naked and completely hung-over."

"Who was it?" Hermione asked, staring at her friend. She was reminded vaguely of a Muggle soap opera.

Ginny laughed. "I'm extremely grateful that it wasn't a rapist or a murderer or someone. I mean, I was drunk, right? So I could have been laid by anyone."

"Ginny," Hermione said loudly, growing impatient, "Who did you sleep with?"

The younger girl looked at Hermione, her eyes bloodshot from fitful sleeping and endless bouts of tears. "I woke up next to Neville Longbottom," she said quietly, closing her eyes and falling back onto the bed, a few tears leaking down her cheeks. "Neville! I slept with Neville, Hermione!"

Hermione stared at her, still slightly confused. "But why is it so bad? I mean, Neville's not that bad. You know it was thanks to him that Harry's still alive—"

"That's just the thing!" she sobbed. "He's not that bad at all; he's wonderful."

"So…"

"Well, for one thing, he doesn't deserve to be tied down to a child he had with a one-night-stand," she said, wiping her eyes, and looking at Hermione. "For another, he's one of my best friends! I mean, I didn't see him very much after I got married, but at school and everything, with the DA and then the Order of the Phoenix, we were friends! You remember, I'm sure; he came with us to the Ministry in my fourth year." 

Hermione nodded. "I remember. I was surprised, considering up until then he had been so…" She frowned, unsure of how to word it.

"Precisely!" Ginny said. "But I'm going to have to tell him. He deserves to know. And I have no idea how. How do you tell a guy who used to be your best friend that you're pregnant with his child?"

Hermione laughed. "It can't be that difficult, I'm sure." However, the 'best friend' part made her think of hers and Ron's former romance. 

Ginny smiled. "I guess not. I'm just a little irrational right now."

Hermione grinned. "I've heard that happens when you're pregnant. Have you had any strange cravings yet? My mum used to complain that she always wanted anchovies on mustard sandwiches when she was pregnant with me." The mention of her mother didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to.

Ginny grinned back. "Actually, I did, last week. Luckily, it was in the middle of the night, so no one found out. Strawberries and pickles…"

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting!" They both grinned at each other and then burst out laughing. Growing serious again, Hermione asked, "How long have you known?"

"Just two days." Ginny sighed. "I can't believe I didn't do anything before. I mean, I knew it was unprotected, but even then, the mood swings and the cravings should have clued me in."

Hermione sighed. "Well, you weren't thinking clearly. I don't blame you, Ginny. It's a lot to go through."

Ginny nodded. "I know, but still."

"Do you want me to go with you when you talk to Neville? I think he's the new Herbology teacher at Hogwarts."

Ginny grinned. "I know. We talked a little bit after…" She reddened. "After we…" She cleared her throat. "You know."

Hermione nodded, a tiny smile on her lips. Ginny was adorable.

"Right, so, we talked, and he mentioned that. He also said that if I turned out to be pregnant—we did discuss that possibility—then he wanted to know."

"Er, Gin, I was wondering…" Hermione trailed off, unsure whether she should ask the question that had been bothering her ever since Ginny's revelation.

"Yeah?"

"Why did he sleep with you?" She blurted out. Realizing how rude that sounded, she said, "I mean, he doesn't seem the type for a one-night stand."

"Oh." Ginny reddened again. "Well, he'd had a few drinks as well, not very many; he'd just had a bad day at work. The Slytherins, I think he said. But apparently it was enough that he didn't put up a lot of resistance when I, uh," she paused and looked away, trying to bring her coloring down. Her face was almost as red as her hair. "Well, I apparently wouldn't take no for an answer."

Hermione raised a brow, trying desperately to keep her laughter at bay. Ginny glanced at her and sighed.

"Just laugh."

Hermione obliged her very willingly. When she'd finally managed to control her giggles, she said, "You know, I wasn't laughing at you—"

Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes. "I know. You were laughing with me. Uh-huh. I know."

Hermione sighed. "So do you want me to go with you? I know it must be intimidating."

"No," Ginny shook her head. "I need to do this by myself. But," she glanced at her friend. "I could use some help getting ready. I look like something the ghoul dragged in."

Hermione chuckled, hugging her best friend. "I'd love to help you."

***

Hermione smiled. After two hours, Ginny was finally looking normal again. First they'd gotten her into a bath, washing away a few days worth of grime. That had taken an hour. Then they'd worked on her hair, which had become a rat's nest in the few weeks she'd let herself go. It had taken forty-five minutes to get it detangled, even after using enough charms and potions to detangle an army. 

The remaining fifteen minutes had been used to find something clean and professional-looking to wear. Ginny, like Hermione, didn't use any make-up or charms to enhance her natural beauty. Not that Ginny considered herself beautiful—it was just that she had just never bothered, and didn't feel like starting then. 

Ginny turned from the mirror to look at her best friend and smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled warmly and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I had fun. And I'm glad you're finally out of your shell." She grinned. "Good luck."

Ginny smiled in return and took a deep breath. She took the wand that Hermione handed her and Apparated, leaving Hermione in the now-empty room.

The former Gryffindor smiled to herself and walked down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to let Mrs. Weasley know that she was leaving. 

"Of course, dear. I hope you'll come back soon."

"Definitely, Mrs. Weasley." She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Ginny mentioned that she might be late getting back."

Mrs. Weasley looked confused, but Hermione left before she could ask any more questions. Hermione was ecstatic that she'd gotten Ginny up and out of the house. She couldn't believe that her best friend was pregnant. It was inconceivable. Sure, one of her best male friends was married, and Ginny herself had been married for five years, but still. Of all the people she had attended school with, Ginny was the last person she would have thought would get stuck with such a problem.

She grinned, her thoughts heading back to her other best friend. Who would have guessed that Harry would have married a Slytherin? Harry Potter and a Slytherin? Heaven forbid! It had hit the headlines for weeks, and still there were daily accounts of their honeymoon on page seven of the Daily Prophet. But Pansy wasn't all that bad, and Hermione wasn't too shy to admit it. The girl was exactly what Harry needed after all those years fighting Voldemort. She couldn't wait until they were back from their honeymoon. 

She sighed. She wanted to go on a honeymoon. Then again, it probably wouldn't be too long, now would it? And thinking of Jeff, Hermione realized that she hadn't seen him in a few days. She smiled. Perfect. She'd just surprise him. 

Hermione Apparated onto his doorstep with a soft "Pop!" She whispered the password, and the door unlocked itself. Letting herself in quietly, she tiptoed into the living room, smiling—

And tears of hurt and anger made their way down her cheeks when her mind processed what she was seeing. 


	4. The Price For Pride

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The idea (and VERY basic plot) for this fic came from "Brighter Than the Sun" by Julia Quinn. I don't own that. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter 4: The Price for Pride_

Hermione stared at the sight before her open-mouthed, tears streaming down her cheeks, feeling her heart break. There, before her, was her boyfriend, Jeff Randall. He was half-naked—his shirt was gone (discarded rather sloppily on the floor), but his pants were (thankfully) still buttoned. His…woman…had her legs wrapped around his waist, and she was backed up against the wall, her blouse open, so it didn't look as though his pants would stay that way (buttoned, that is) for long.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she forced herself to stop crying. She would not be undignified, not here, not now. Not ever. Wiping her eyes (and performing a rather tricky spell to get rid of the puffiness), she drew herself up to her full height of 5 feet 2 inches, and said coolly, "Why Jeff, I didn't think you had it in you."

It was enough to cause the two rabbits to break apart. Jeff stared at her, open-mouthed and speechless, looking rather like Hermione had only moments before. The thought made her smile sardonically. "Her-Hermione, it's not what you think," Jeff said soothingly, stepping towards her, his arms raised in a 'see, I'm harmless,' way.

Hermione raised a brow, determined to get the upper hand. And if she couldn't hurt him emotionally-he'd proved that he had no heart the moment he so much as touched that woman-she would hurt his dignity and his ego. "Actually, Jeff, it is obviously exactly what I think. And, to tell you the truth," she sighed, looking down at her fingernails as though she hadn't a care in the world.

Then she laughed. "Although, it doesn't really seem as though you deserve the truth, seeing as how you've been lying to me all this time." Her eyes grew cold as she continued. "But you know, you're not the only one playing double." She hesitated, almost deciding to stop there, but the temptation to shove it all in his face was too great.

"I'm getting married," she smiled condescendingly at him. "To Draco Malfoy; you remember him, right? He was well-known to be the sex-god of Hogwarts in my day. Ah, well, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't. You always were rather thick-headed."

And she turned around and walked out the door, her back as straight as a steel rod, tears already beginning to cloud her eyes.

***

Hermione stood on the edge of the cliff, her eyes closed, the sea wind buffeting her loose hair. It was peaceful here, something that she now lacked internally. After all, who would be peaceful if their boyfriend of two years cheated on them? Her cheeks had salty dried tears on them, but there were no more leaking out. She felt drained. Empty. 

She had found this place while on vacation the summer after graduation. She'd come here after she'd broken up with Ron—the second time…

"Sweetheart, you know I love you…" Ron trailed off.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. This sounded a lot like the prelude to a break-up. "What?" she asked.

"Well, I've fallen in love with someone else."

She almost laughed, remembering that. It sounded like a soap opera. But she couldn't laugh. It had hurt, when he'd said that. "I guess I just don't have the best luck with men…" she whispered, the soft words carrying across the ocean. 

And she really didn't. Maybe it wasn't even her choices. Maybe it was her. The only person that hadn't broken up with her because of 'someone else' was Viktor. And he'd broken up with her because of age. 

Hermione sighed. It was always her fault. And the break-ups had always been instigated by the men. Maybe it was her fault… Maybe she held on long after there was anything left. But she'd really thought that she and Jeff were going well together. She'd dated him longer than she'd dated anyone else, and she'd really loved him. 

And then she'd gone and opened her big mouth. 

_"I'm getting married … to Draco Malfoy."_

They had to be the six stupidest words in the English language. She didn't have to marry him—after all, it wasn't as if she'd signed something. But it was a matter of pride. Jeff had already stripped her of too much of it for her to just walk away. Maybe it was a good thing. After all, she was practically out of money, her roommate was moving away, and she didn't have anywhere else to go.

Her parents had died in one of the Death Eater attacks during the Dark War. Parents of Muggleborns had been specifically targeted, and none of the spies had found out in time for the Order to get the Grangers out. She sniffled. It had been the fall after her graduation from Hogwarts. She was only grateful that she and her parents had had the one last vacation, and that she'd found this place. 

She'd come here, after their death. It was horrible, how impersonal the letter had been, how cold and unfeeling…

  
  


Dear Ms. Hermione Lynne Granger,

We regret to inform you that your parents died after an attack by Death Eaters on their house in Muggle England. Our thoughts will be with you.

  


- Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

  
  


Hermione snorted derisively. She couldn't believe the old coot was still in office. But he probably would be, so long as he was alive. Lucky for him, he'd gotten his head out of his arse long enough to take Dumbledore's advice. Very lucky indeed, as it was probably only with the help of the Dementors and the giants that the Light had won the war. Well, that and the amazing number of spies. Severus Snape, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy…

She shook her head. She still could not believe that Draco Malfoy had become a spy. No one knew, apparently, except perhaps Dumbledore. Hermione laughed. Then again, it seemed the elder wizard knew everything else, so why would he not know that? Ah, well. The point was, Malfoy had spied for them. So at least she knew she wasn't getting hitched to a Death Eater. Well, a real one.

Not that she was saying that she was going to marry him. She was only considering it. She was also considering that perhaps all the forces of the universe, planets, gods, goddesses, and people alike, were aligned against her. It would certainly help everything make sense. Like the fact that everything in her life seemed to be pointing to marrying Malfoy. 

She couldn't stay with Ginny—the girl still lived with her parents after all!—and she couldn't stay with the Weasleys. She didn't want to impose herself on them. Ron was out of the question, Harry and Pansy were on their honeymoon, and she really didn't have any other friends. She'd drifted apart from all the ones she'd had before Hogwarts, and she'd spent too much time buried in her books to make any friends other than Harry, Ron and Ginny. 

She had nowhere to go. No money. He was her only hope.

Hermione cringed. What a wonderful thought.

***

"Elizabeth!" Hermione called, bending over to check under her twin bed for any more clothes she might have missed. 

"Yes?" Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, her hair swept up haphazardly and pinned to the back of her head. The hairdo looked good on her, that was for sure. Hermione knew she could never look so good and yet so casual.

"I'm going to Malfoy's office and I need help," Hermione sighed, "I don't know what to wear."

"Ah," Elizabeth grinned, "this should be fun. I cannot wait to play with your hair! Finally," she sighed, a happy little grin on her face. "Your hair is a hairdresser's dream," Elizabeth gushed, walking over to Hermione, her face aglow. "I wish you would have let me work on it sooner. I mean, it's a good texture, easy to manipulate, but you always put it in that bun…" she shivered. "It's almost scary! It always reminds me of Professor McGonagall."

Hermione sighed, fighting to keep a small smile off her face. Elizabeth could be so fun sometimes. It was probably a good thing, of course, especially since they were roommates. 

Well, they wouldn't be for long, would they? Either way, one of them would be moving soon. Hermione sighed as she let Elizabeth force her into the chair and begin to work on her hair. She had no idea why they weren't finding her something to wear first. 

Hmm. She could use the time to think about her future husband… Or at least he would be if all went the way it should. Draco Malfoy. Hermione Malfoy. Should she change her name? She wasn't certain. Hermione Malfoy didn't sound all that bad… Maybe it was the whole Greek goddess thing. Goddesses and Malfoy just seemed to fit together for some reason. A strange reason, but a reason nonetheless. Anything that made this whole situation seem sane would be a good thing.

"All right," Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts, "I think I've narrowed down what I'm going to do to your hair, so now we need to get to work on your clothes…" She eyed Hermione's current robe disdainfully. "This won't do at all," she said sadly, and turned to Hermione's closet. The fashion designer began flipping through her clothes, mumbling about sizes and cuts and 'doesn't she have anything more seductive?' 

Hermione sighed, blushing slightly. She didn't have anything seductive because… well, because she didn't need to be seductive. At least in her opinion. And her opinion was really all that mattered, wasn't it? 

Then again… Jeff's had mattered for a long time, hadn't it? Hermione felt a pang in the area near her heart. She had loved him. A lot. Why had he done that to her? Why had he cheated on her? Why? Did he perhaps prefer women more like Elizabeth, ones who knew fashion and hairstyles and all those things she had never bothered to learn?

Why had he cheated on her? Had she not been pretty enough? Did she not dress correctly? Was it her job? Was it her hair? Was it…

Hermione sighed. And here she was, still caring. Jeff's opinion apparently still mattered if she was spending so much time obsessing over why it was that he had chosen to cheat on her. 

So far as she knew, no one had cheated on her.

Wait… there had been Ron. But he'd at least come clean. And he'd never actually said he was cheating on her, just that he'd fallen in love with someone else. "Stupid git," Hermione mumbled under her breath. She couldn't believe he could have been so inconsiderate. She had been in love with him, and he went and broke the news that he was in love as well—only with someone else!

"What was that?" Elizabeth asked, halfway in the closet, her voice slightly muffled.

"Nothing," Hermione said, blushing slightly. How embarrassing to have your roommate hear your inarticulate mumbling!

"Aha!" Elizabeth yelled, sounding triumphant. She came out from the closet, her hair still immaculate, a dark green robe in her hand. "I knew you had to have something. Where did you get this from, anyway?" she asked, setting it on the bed.

"It was for Ginny's wedding," Hermione said, almost awed. She hadn't seen the robe since… Well, probably since she'd moved. "She helped me pick it out."

"Ah, that makes sense," Elizabeth said, smiling.

"What?" Hermione asked indignantly. "Are you suggesting that I lack fashion sense?"

"I'm not suggesting it," Elizabeth's grin widened, "I'm telling you. You lack fashion sense."

Hermione sighed. "I know. I really don't have any, do I?"

"Nope, not one bit." Elizabeth picked up the robe again. "Now let's get to work, and hope this thing still fits you."

An hour later, Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror. She gave herself a small smile; she looked good. Her hair was actually in a bun, but it didn't look the way it normally did. It actually looked… Well, good—sexy almost. And her robe was awesome. Elizabeth obviously knew her stuff. Not that she'd doubted it before… She just hadn't seen the end product. 

Elizabeth had modified the robe slightly, so that it clung more tightly to her curves—though she hadn't really needed to, considering it had been five years since she'd worn it and had gained weight since then. Elizabeth had also used a charm on her hair so that it was slightly less curly; Hermione had stopped her before she completely decimated the bushy curls. She might not think her hair the best, but it was just as much a part of her as anything else, and she wasn't going to change it just because fashion dictated she should. 

Hermione smiled. She actually liked her reflection for once. Usually she didn't. Usually she just lived with it. Now she was proud of it. That was probably good, considering that she had to be pretty confident since she was going to transact a business deal. She could only hope that it worked.

***

Draco Malfoy twirled his quill between his fingers as he sat at his desk at the Ministry of Magic. He'd gotten a job here easily, what with all of his connections, and it didn't hurt that he actually liked his job. It made it harder for his enemies to say that he only had the job because he was a Malfoy. 

But the truth was that being a Malfoy was nowhere near as good a thing to be as it had been before the Dark War. Thanks to his father…

Draco sneered disgustedly. Thanks to his father, the Malfoy name was laughed at as much as it was revered and feared. He had to work twice as hard as before to get half the results. Well, perhaps he was exaggerating; at least a tiny bit. His situation wasn't as hopeless, as, say, Granger's. 

Yes, he knew about her job. She worked at a desk job earning minimum wage. She had for the past six years since they'd graduated. She'd never been promoted, and probably wouldn't be, at least in the near future. Although he didn't know for sure, he was guessing that she worked twice as hard as anyone else in that department. It was just in her nature. It had started at Hogwarts, so he'd be very surprised if it had changed.

He didn't like to think that he was a selfish person, but he knew better. It had been bred into him, perhaps even genetically. It hadn't helped that his father was Lucius Malfoy. The man didn't know the meaning of the word 'equal.' 

Draco knew that many people wondered why he had chosen the Light over the Dark. But he knew. 

Narcissa's death had been shrouded with mystery. It had happened about a year before the final battle, during the Christmas holidays of his seventh year. He hadn't been home at the time. She had died of an apparent flying accident. Everyone knew better of course, but none could prove it. 

Narcissa hated flying. She always had. Even after growing up in a Magical household, she didn't like it. 

Draco had begun to doubt his mother's loyalty towards his father late in his sixth year. He loved his mother—she was probably the only person he had ever truly loved, in fact. So when she had died with Lucius as the only suspect—at least in Draco's mind—he had switched sides faster than you could say 'Quidditch.' 

The young wizard absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm. It had hurt, when he'd gotten it after he'd graduated in seventh year. The only consolation was that he was doing it for his mother, to get Lucius back for killing her. Severus had become a close friend and confidant of his during the hard times, as had Pansy. He'd never have thought Pansy would have had such a brain on her. 

Cordelia Parkinson, Pansy's mother, was a lot like Lucius. She was cold, unfeeling, and power-hungry. She didn't care how many people she had to step on to get where she was going, and her spouse was no more than a decoration and a sperm donor. Well, obviously Narcissa hadn't been a sperm donor, but—

Draco shook his head, smiling wryly. His thoughts were always amusing. 

There was a knock on the door. "Mr. Malfoy?" It was his secretary.

"Yes, Bruce?" he asked, sitting up and setting his quill down on the desk. Bruce Sprighton opened the door to let himself in.

"Sir, there's someone here to see you."

Draco glanced at the clock. Gods, it was almost eleven! It was almost lunch-time and he'd barely done any work. "Who is it?" he asked anxiously, afraid it would be his supervisor. He needed the report on Iraq done by two that afternoon. Draco had always made it a point to finish all of his work early, so it wouldn't be surprising if Mr. Everett expected the report already. 

The problem was, Draco hadn't done it. He'd been so preoccupied by the will that he'd gotten behind on his work. 

"I'm not certain, sir, she wouldn't give a name."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn't Mr. Everett. "Send her in."

Bruce nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him. 

Draco wondered who it could be. He'd broken up with his last girlfriend—Cathleen, was it?—at least two months earlier, so it couldn't be that. And he wasn't that friendly with any of the women in the Ministry… 

"Malfoy," someone said. 

Draco's head whipped up, and he stared in shock at Hermione Granger, standing in front of him in a tight-fitting dark green robe. Her hair was up in a bun, a few stray wisps floating around her face. She'd never looked better.

Granger's lips curved up in the semblance of a smile. "Malfoy," she said, "I've come here to tell you that I've changed my mind."

Draco's eyebrows rose in both question and shock.

"I will marry you."


	5. Have A Little Fun Now

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The idea (and VERY basic plot) for this fic came from "Brighter Than the Sun" by Julia Quinn. I don't own that. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Five: Have A Little Fun Now_

"You changed your mind," he repeated slowly, eyeing her suspiciously. Surely she was joking. What could have happened to make her change her mind so quickly? At the reading of the will, she had been ready to claw his eyes out for even suggesting it.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I did."

"Why?" 

She shook her head, her lips clamped shut, refusing to answer.

He raised a brow. "Why?"

Still no answer, though she did cross her arms.

"Granger, either—"

"You know what?" she interrupted him suddenly.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"If we're going to be married, we should call each other by our first names." She walked up to his desk and held out a hand for him to shake. "Draco."

"Hermione," he said, holding her gaze as he stood and picked up her hand, shaking it politely.

She shivered involuntarily. Honestly. Why did her name have to sound so good coming from his lips? And speaking of lips—

She shook herself inwardly. What in the Gods' names was the matter with her? Fantasizing about Draco Malfoy's lips?! Imagine telling that to Harry and Ron. Of course, Ron would probably freak if he knew she was marrying Ma—Draco. Harry wouldn't be as bad, if only because he himself had just married Pansy, so he wasn't as prejudiced against Slytherins as others were.

It was those 'others' that had Hermione worried. She had no idea how anyone else would take it… Well, she had an idea about Ginny's reaction. She would probably be shocked, but feel that so long as it made Hermione happy, she would support her decision. Hermione cringed. That was actually the worst thing that could happen, since she was nowhere near positive that it would make her happy. She sighed inwardly. But that was the way it was.

"Hermione?" Draco questioned.

She snapped out of her reverie to look at him. "Yes?"

A slow smirk appeared on his face. "You're still holding my hand."

Hermione looked down and was shocked to see he was right. She jumped away almost as if he had been a snake—how appropriate, she thought ironically—and sat down at the seat in front of his desk. "Well, then," she said, clearing her throat. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"What business?" Draco asked. "We get married. End of discussion. And a very good discussion it was," he ended, looking down at her from where he was standing.

"Uh, Draco," Hermione said, uncomfortably aware of his stare but ignoring it the best she could, "there's a lot more to it than that."

"Oh, really?" Draco asked, sitting down and leaning back in his chair. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, really," she said, rolling her eyes. He was so melodramatic. Taking a few sheets of parchment out of her bag, she set them on the table. "There are a lot of details we need to take care of." Details over which she had lost quite a bit of sleep. "Now, large wedding or small wedding? Or do you want just a small Ministry service?"

Draco frowned. "Uh, small wedding, I guess, but—"

"Honeymoon?" Hermione interrupted.

"No," he said succinctly, crossing his arms.

She paused. "Why not?"

"Because it's not like we're in love or something." He wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Do we really need it?"

Hermione sighed. It made sense that he would be like this. "Did your parents have a honeymoon?"

"Yes, but—"

She interrupted him again. "Were they in love?"

"No, but—"

"End of discussion."

"Granger!" Draco yelled. 

"Yes?" she asked, looking up from her notes, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Since when did you become the alpha male here?" he demanded.

Hermione glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," well, she did, but that was beside the point, "but I'm taking charge because you obviously have no idea what is involved with getting married. And my name, as I'm sure you remember, is Hermione, not Granger."

Draco mumbled something she couldn't make out, and to be truthful, she didn't particularly want to.

"All right then. We will both keep our jobs, correct?" she looked up for verification.

He nodded, leaning back in his chair again.

"Where will we live?"

Draco shrugged. "Malfoy Manor, I suppose."

"Ooo-kay…" Hermione made a note on her parchment. "How are you supporting yourself right now? I mean, how was all the buildings' upkeep paid for if you don't have enough money for it now?"

"There was a fund that was set up for that. I lived on what I earn here, and on the small amount I inherited from my mother."

"Then why don't you just keep doing that?"

"Granger," he said. 

"Hermione," she corrected.

"_Her-mi-o-ne_… Weren't you listening to the will? Section 4.d. said that fund is now inoperative."

"Hm…"

"What?" he demanded. Granger was becoming increasingly bothersome.

"I just have an idea, is all," she said. "But back to the wedding: how many people do you want to invite?"

"Well, if it was what I wanted we wouldn't invite any, but—"

"Why don't we do that then?"

"Because, Her-mi-o-ne," he said, stretching her name out, "Everyone in my family will want an invitation."

"Even though you're marrying a Mudblood?" Hermione asked, a brow raised. 

Draco just stared at her.

"Well, why don't we elope?" Hermione said, setting her pad and pencil down to look at him directly.

"What?" Draco wasn't certain he could believe his ears.

"Elope," she repeated slowly. "You know, when you get married by an official and don't bother with a huge wedding? Then we don't have to worry about them. And you don't have to wait to organize a wedding. The longer you wait, the more money you'll have to put into the buildings. You said yourself that the fund was inoperative after your father's death. That means that even now you're paying for their upkeep out of your own pockets."

Draco rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking at her appraisingly. "You do know that then we'll pretty much get married on the honeymoon, right?"

Hermione nodded.

He leaned forward, a small smile on his face. "Have you given any thought to the fact that we're going to have to procreate at some point?"

She didn't say anything. She just sat there, not moving. Why had she forgotten that, of all things? Well, if she were honest with herself, she had thought of it—she just hadn't brought it up because she was still extremely uncomfortable with the idea. She cleared her throat. "Well, uh, yes…"

Draco smirked. "Well?"

"We will have to, uh, procreate, as you so eloquently put it—"

"Oh, I'm eloquent, am I?"

Hermione glared at him before continuing. "As I was saying: yes, we will have to procreate, but I'm good for another ten years at the least, so why would we have to do anything now?"

"Because, my dear fiancée…" Draco trailed off, leaning forward again and catching one of her hands in his. "Don't you know that men who aren't satisfied with their wife often are found to…" he waved his other hand slightly, "stray?"

Hermione colored a bright red. No, she hadn't exactly thought of that. Plus, his thumb was rubbing the back of her hand, and it wasn't helping her to stay focused at all. "Why wouldn't I want you to stray?" she said, albeit she realized her voice was slightly breathless. 

"Because, _Her-mi-o-ne_," he said, setting her hand down gently and gesturing widely, "I don't want people to find out I was forced into marriage with you because of my bastard of a father. They'll think we're in love or some such thing, and that would be completely blown if I'm found straying from my marriage so soon."

"Well isn't that your problem?" she snapped. "And besides," she continued, "why would you want anyone to think that you're in love with a Mudblood?" 

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Because it's better than my father strong-handing me into anything."

"Well," Hermione said, desperate to make a point, any point, that would keep them in separate beds, "how do you know I'll even be any good?" she asked, blushing a red that would have done the Weasleys proud.

"I don't," Draco smirked.

"Well… Well, how do I know you won't stray anyway?"

"You don't."

"Then what's the point of any of this?!" 

Draco sighed. "Forget it. But we're sleeping in the same room on the honeymoon."

"Fine." She paused. "What about at Malfoy Manor?"

"At the Manor the two chambers are connected."

Hermione brightened. "So I don't have to sleep with you there?"

"No," he scowled.

She smiled. "All right then…" she paused again, looking at her notes before placing them back in her bag and looking him in the eye. "What are we waiting for?"

***

Draco stood on the deck of the QE2, glaring at the ocean as though it had done something to displease him. He couldn't believe that he was now a married man. He'd sworn that he wouldn't get married until he was at least thirty. He had wanted to make the most of his bachelor years, but no. His father had to decide to make his life a living hell. It wasn't much of a consolation that he was just returning the favor. 

Hermione was still in the Suite that he'd been able to get last minute. She was looking around and putting her things away, although he had a feeling she was avoiding him. Not that he cared much, of course. Well, he cared—she was his wife—but he didn't care care. Draco shook his head, grimacing. This was getting confusing.

"Hey," a soft voice came from behind him. He belatedly realized it was Hermione, and turned around…

…And was promptly left speechless.

She was wearing a light blue spaghetti-strap sundress that ended a few inches above her knees. Modest, yes, but at the same time very alluring. He would have to rethink his ideas on Muggle fashion.

Hermione looked at him nervously, fiddling with her strap. "What? What is it?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing, nothing at all." He turned back to the ocean, motioning for her to come up beside him. He glanced at her again, amazed that she could look so beautiful. He would have never imagined it, especially during their school days. She had always been buried behind her books. 

He glanced down at her left hand. His ring was there. It was simple enough, just a gold band, but it was intricately woven by skilled craftsmen. One would have never guessed that it was the Malfoy ring, given to the eldest son to give to his wife on their wedding day. One would have thought it would be something more elaborate and gaudy. Hermione had, at least.

"You mean this is it?"

"What were you expecting?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know… Maybe a huge ruby or something," she laughed.

Draco sighed, looking at his own hand. There wasn't a ring there. Yet.

"What do you mean, 'men don't wear a wedding ring'?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, my father didn't wear one. I don't have one."

Hermione gave a frustrated sigh and poked him in the chest. "As soon as we get back, you are getting a ring and you're going to wear it. I will not have a husband who will not show the fact that he is married."

In the corner of his eye Draco could see the Ministry official fighting laughter. He sighed dejectedly. "Fine."

Draco turned to his wife. "What are we going to do now?" he asked. He really wished he hadn't agreed so quickly to letting her stay in her own bed, because he had a very interesting activity in mind that he very much doubted she would agree to.

She shrugged, still looking out at the ocean. "I don't know. We could head down to dinner."

He shook his head. "I'm not in the mood." Definitely not.

Hermione laughed, and Draco was surprised to find himself wanting to smile in response. He quickly stomped on the impulse. He never smiled. "We can eat in the room, then, if that's what you want. I don't really care."

Draco nodded and took her arm, guiding her to the elevator. 

As soon as they were in, she spoke. "I didn't know you knew how to use an elevator."

Draco shrugged, a small smirk making its way onto his face. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Hermione laughed again. "I guess that's true. But the same is true about me, you know," she grinned, raising her eyebrows beguilingly. 

He shook his head, a small smirk on his face. She really had no idea how pretty she was. Married life was going to be interesting, to say the least…


	6. Silent Observations

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Six: Silent Observations_

Hermione sighed, stepping onto the dock and rubbing her eyes. It had been a tiring week—that was for certain. What with the sudden affection Draco had for swing-dancing that kept them up until all hours of the night, and his popularity with the females onboard (which Hermione had found very unamusing, not to mention the fact that they would not leave him alone!), she had gotten almost zero sleep. After all, she knew that if she abandoned him for a single second she wouldn't be surprised if he were jumped—and she couldn't have her husband of little more than a few days being tempted by short skirts and tight blouses. 

She had no illusions as to herself. She knew she was not beautiful, and that she was lucky to have had as many boyfriends as she had. Many of them, she knew, had used her as a rebound, Viktor chief among them. He had been with a lower-year Durmstrang girl who had dumped him when he'd made it into the big-times. Hermione had had quite a time attempting to comfort him, and it had been her first temptation to have sex. 

However, logic, which she valued almost more than her honor and loyalty, had prevailed, and Hermione had slapped him for suggesting such a thing. He was shocked, but he didn't do anything. He had later apologized and asked if they could remain friends—she had agreed, and they were still corresponding today. He was settled down nicely with the youngest of a prominent Wizarding family—of all possible people, Aileen Zabini. 

Hermione remembered the youngest Zabini, who had entered her first year at Hogwarts when Hermione had just become a prefect, and begun dating Ron. She had, like her older sister, been sorted into Slytherin. But Hermione had become quite close to the young girl after she began having trouble in Charms, and approached the Gryffindor prefect. She had been shocked that the girl had come to her, instead of one of her own housemates or prefects, but accepted it without question, giving Aileen the help she needed. 

Later she had learned that it was her own quiet honesty that had attracted the young girl; or so Aileen had said. She had also said that Hermione's devotion to her studies had influenced her, despite their difference in Houses. (She had been especially impressed after hearing a rumor that she had taken nearly all the courses offered in her third year.) Their friendship still wasn't widely known, even to Harry and Ron, and Hermione wasn't certain why not. After all, Harry definitely wasn't prejudiced against Slytherins anymore and Ron… Well, maybe that had been it. Ron was rather prejudiced, silly so it may seem now that his best friend was married to what Ron would have termed 'the enemy.'

Then again…they hadn't seen much of Ron since Harry's relationship with Pansy had become widely known. Hermione frowned. What was that supposed to mean anyhow?

A bright flash jolted Hermione from her thoughts, and she looked up from the dock where she had been staring to a crowd of reporters all shouting questions, with "Mr. Malfoy! Do you have any comment on your relationship with Hermione Granger?" being the primary among them, and the one Draco answered.

"Actually," he said, "it's Hermione Granger-Malfoy now." Hermione had expressed her desire to retain her maiden name, at least hyphenated, while they were on the cruise. "And so it begins," he whispered into her ear, slipping his arms around her waist. She could almost hear his smirk as she stood stiffly in his semi-embrace. She still was not completely comfortable with the physical closeness he felt they had to exhibit as a married—and supposedly hopelessly in love—couple. For heaven's sake, they hadn't even kissed yet!

Not that Draco hadn't tried. No, he was ever the attentive husband, and there had been multiple times when she would have sworn that he was going to kiss her—but those moments always passed, and she was left with a deep feeling of disappointment. Of course, she would not admit this to Draco—she was still Hermione Granger, after all, and she would not admit weakness, least of all to her former enemy… No matter how close they had become in the past week.

And they had become close. Hermione freely admitted it…to herself. Draco probably felt it as well, but they had never discussed it. Hermione slept on the bed, and Draco on the couch (after she won a bet as to how many women would ask him to dance). Draco got up first, usually around six or six-thirty—without an alarm—and Hermione very soon after. However, because he woke up earlier, Draco was always the first in the bathroom. He would take about ten minutes in the shower (yes, Hermione had actually timed him) and then another fifteen minutes in the bathroom.

Draco ate quite a bit, but was a lot more casual about it then Harry or Ron had ever been, eating slowly, and thoroughly chewing his food. Mealtimes would usually take about an hour and a half, although Hermione always finished her entrees first. To fill the silence, she talked, and Draco inserted questions every now and then. Because of this, she was left feeling that Draco knew almost everything about her and she—she knew nothing of him.

Becoming aware of her surroundings again, as well as Draco's hand pressing on her back in an attempt to get her to move, she gave a small smile to the passing reporters and photographers as she walked to the waiting car, her heart beating against her chest almost painfully. Slipping into the backseat, she took a deep breath, sinking into the leather with a soft sigh and closing her eyes. 

As the car door shut to the almost deafening din outside, Hermione allowed a small smile to flit across her face, and she opened her eyes, peeking at her husband. He was sitting in the seat across from her, staring at her with one blond brow raised, his handsome face melting into a soft smirk. His gray eyes were twinkling, almost as though he knew something she didn't. She scowled at him. "Why didn't you warn me?" she demanded of him, crossing her arms over her chest, not seeing that in doing so she caused the silky black material to tighten across her breasts.

"Honestly, Hermione," Draco smirked, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket she hadn't noticed until that point. "Didn't it occur to you that the last heir to the Malfoy fortune and name, eloping with a Muggleborn, would be extremely newsworthy? The only reason we weren't bombarded on the cruise was because the Ministry probably wouldn't let the reporters and photographers Apparate into a situation where there were so many Muggles. And aren't you supposed to be Hermione Know-it-all Granger? Why didn't it occur to you?" he asked, looking positively bewildered, his brows furrowed adorably. 

Hermione sniffed delicately. "It's Hermione Know-it-all Granger-Malfoy now, thank you very much," she said, the hint of a smile upon her lips. "And I was very…preoccupied on the cruise," she muttered, embarrassed that something so obvious should have slipped her mind. But she had been preoccupied on the cruise, what with the mind-bending reality that she was married to Draco Malfoy prevalent over all. There had also been the addition of finding jealously in her feelings associated with the other cruise patrons whenever they complimented her husband for one reason or another… Although most often they were complimenting his lean shape and fine physique, which, while Hermione did not mind admiring herself, she was not keen on having others do so as well. 

Draco raised a brow, leaning forward and pouring her a glass of the now-bubbling (and open) champagne. He handed it to her, saying, "And what was it you were so preoccupied about?"

Hermione took a sip of the light-colored alcoholic beverage, swirling it absently while searching for a plausible excuse in the roof of the car. She wasn't even entirely sure why she had been so preoccupied, although she knew it was because of Draco. But she didn't want to tell him that, for some inexplicable reason. She shrugged, attempting to brush it off. "Oh, you know, just the usual reasons. Besides, I was trying to have fun. How can you have fun while imagining all the reporters that are going to hound you in just a few days?" She laughed nervously.

Draco watched Hermione, leaning back in his seat. He didn't want to accept it, because there seemed to be more to what she was saying, but he wasn't sure he wanted to push the issue. They had made leaps and bounds in their relationship, and now could at least joke comfortably with each other, but he wasn't certain she trusted him—and that was extremely important, not only for their relationship, but also… 

Well, he wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to know that he was something more than just a former Seeker, Slytherin, and Prefect—note that all were former. She probably didn't know very much about him, about what he was right now, and he couldn't blame her—they had talked mostly about her life at mealtimes, and the rest of the time had been spent shopping, dancing or sleeping. He'd found he much liked swing-dancing, although after Hermione's fall their first night he had been very careful. He'd taken a liking to the Muggleborn, whether he liked it or not. 

"All right," he said, sinking into the cushions and closing his eyes. If she didn't feel like sharing her thoughts, that was fine with him. But he wasn't going to make conversation where it wasn't wanted, so he made no further comments, deciding instead to drift off into a weary, restful sleep. 

***

Hermione sat slumped in the backseat of the limo, her eyes heavy and her breathing slowed. She wasn't yet asleep, but she would be in a few minutes the way her eyes kept drooping. She supposed that Draco had fallen asleep, as he hadn't said anything in at least two hours. Who knew it would take so long to get to the manor? 

Unfortunately for Hermione, just as she was drifting off into a very easy sleep, the limo stopped moving and Draco jerked awake. He glanced out of the tinted windows and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "We're here," he whispered, glancing at her closed eyelids and hearing her heavy, even breathing. The smile widened and he leaned over, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her face. He shook her slightly on the shoulder and she frowned, mumbling, "I don't want to get up yet."

"Hermione," Draco said, smiling, "we're at the manor."

Hermione jerked awake, and upon opening her eyes was startled to see Draco's face mere inches from her own. She froze, staring at his lips, cursing her mind for going straight to the gutter, no stops beforehand. She smiled shakily, forcing her eyes to move to meet his. The skin around his eyes was crinkled, and she realized in shock that he was grinning; she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him do that before. 

Draco pulled away, his knees practically jelly. If just being that close to her made him feel that way, what would happen when they finally kissed? Or, on a more advanced note, made love? Or, taking a step back, when they embraced? They'd never embraced before; they'd had almost no physical contact besides in public and on the dance floor. But enough with the what-ifs and the maybes. It was time to introduce the new Mistress Malfoy to her home: Malfoy Manor. 

***

Hermione was having a hard time standing. Besides the fact that she was extremely tired, she was in what had to be the largest manor-house she had seen since visiting Italy with her parents—and no one had been living in that one. She was expected to live in this humongous, old, odorless, simply… magnificent house? Hold that thought. It could not be called a house—mansion was much more appropriate. Or, perhaps castle. Yes, castle fit quite nicely, considering it was made of stone. 

She was standing in the entrance hall, and already it could fit the whole of the Burrow with room left to spare. A spiral staircase only helped to accentuate how grand it all was, and she was almost positive the whole thing was marble—and the floor! Who knew that a floor could be so utterly magnificent? It was an extremely dark black with veins of what could be silver running through it, and it was polished to an extremely high sheen. She was afraid to walk on it for fear of slipping and making a fool of herself. 

Then she looked up. It was an extremely large chandelier, probably made all of pure crystal by the looks of it, and weighing in the range of a thousand pounds—and probably more. No wonder the Manor was Unplottable… If any collectors got a whiff of what was here, it would be gone before you could say "Accio!" 

But the chandelier didn't even begin to describe the ceiling. With marble edging connecting the walls and ceiling, there was a magnificent painting. On the ceiling. Hermione knew her mouth was gaping open, but she couldn't do anything about it. It was just so utterly magnificent. The closest she could come to describing it in her shocked state was that it looked quite a bit like Michelangelo's painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. "What on Earth…" she whispered, mesmerized. 

She could almost feel Draco smiling beside her, as she couldn't will up the strength to move. "It was painted in the mid-1500s by a contemporary of Michelangelo. My great-great-great… you get the idea," Hermione nodded, "grandmother commissioned him, wiping his memory later." When Hermione finally turned her head away from the painting to raise an eyebrow at him, he held up his hands, attempting to look innocent. "What? He was a Muggle. If it helps, he always had bread on the table after that, though he wasn't sure all the time where it came from. Not all of my ancestors were horrid to Muggles."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "I imagine you have plenty more stories about this place," she said, sighing. 

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "My father always told me about them. He seemed to be determined that I would be as famous as every single thing in this house. The funny thing is that I am; just not for what he would have liked."

She nodded, suddenly thinking about how difficult it must have been to go against his father like that, to go against everything he had ever believed in, or been taught to believe in… She blinked back tears, surprised. Why was she getting so emotional over that? Must be PMS, she supposed. The bloody thing got annoying at times… Funny how that could be taken literally. "Well," she said brightly, how about you show me to my room?"

A corner of Draco's mouth tilted up and he nodded his head. "Of course; you'll probably want to unpack."

Hermione followed him as he began up the staircase. She had actually completely forgotten that she needed to do that. After all, she'd had a lot of other things on her mind… Like trying to figure out what it was she was feeling for Draco. It had been simple when dislike had been the multitude of the feelings, easier when it had been hate. It had gotten more difficult after his role as a spy had been revealed, of course, but now…

Now it was just…

Very, extremely, undeniably difficult to sort out her feelings. On the one hand, he was still Draco. He was still prejudiced against Muggleborns, at least politically speaking, he probably still didn't like the Weasleys, and… He was just… Draco. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Wasn't he, most likely, his father's son? Granted, she had never met Lucius Malfoy; but Harry had, and he had said what an utter… something… he was. 

On the other hand… 

"Hermione?" Draco prodded. "We're here…"

Hermione smiled at him, looking around the room. Thankfully, it wasn't quite as large as the entrance hall, the emphasis being on quite. The ceiling was only one and a half stories, probably around fifteen feet, and the floor was wooden—granted, it was a highly polished mahogany-colored wood, but it was wood—as opposed to the marble in the entrance. Thankfully, she thought, glancing up, there was no painting on the ceiling… Although there was a window nearly as high as the ceiling—and it even had a window seat. 

There was very large, probably king-size, canopy bed in the middle of the room that made Hermione wonder whether she would get lost in it; it certainly had the look of a comfortable mattress. The sheets were in a dark evergreen color—her favorite, despite its association with Slytherin. 

The rest of the room was rather plain—at least compared to the entrance hall and what she had seen on the walk from there to her room; which, admittedly, wasn't much. She'd been too absorbed in her thoughts to notice much besides the basic splendor of what she would probably refer to—at least in her mind—as a castle. 

"Thanks," she said, walking up to the bed and running a hand over the sheets. Not silk, as she had first assumed, but a very delicate cotton; better, in her opinion. "Thanks," she repeated, finishing, "for everything." Hermione walked back to him, where he stood at the door. She glanced to the right; there were three doors. "What are those?" she asked, heading towards them.

Draco's mouth tilted upwards slightly on both sides as he followed her. He opened the first door; "Your closet," he said, barely giving her time to take in the largeness of it—luckily, it was very simple, with a wood floor like the room and wood paneling on the walls. Moving to the next door, "This is connected to a sitting room, and the sitting room is connected to my room." Hermione flushed, hoping he didn't notice. She peeked through the door as they began to move to the next one; it was decorated much the same as her room, in green, and the ceiling height was the same, though the room was maybe half the size of hers. 

"And," Draco finished, "the water closet and bathroom, all in one." Noticing the question that she was ill-prepared to voice, the smile on his face became more pronounced. "Yes, it is connected to my room." Hermione blushed a deep red this time, knowing he saw, and, no doubt, enjoyed. The ceiling was definitely not as high as either the sitting room's or her own, but it was a large and roomy bathroom—the best she had seen in a good long while. 

Draco closed the door and stepped towards her. "I'll go to my room while you unpack. Dinner should be ready in—" he checked his silver watch—"about an hour. I'll come get you, alright?"

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore how close he was. There was something so amazing about how she could feel his presence; she didn't have to see him to know he was there. Getting caught up in the moment, she closed her eyes just to test the theory. She was therefore quite surprised when she felt his lips on her forehead—it was just a light brushing that was over in less than two seconds, but it stayed with her as she opened her eyes, watching him leave through the sitting room door; she never noticed the slight falter in his step.

***

Draco swept through the sitting room without giving it a second glance; he had been in it too often not to know its exact setup. Green sofa against the wall next to Hermione's room, bookcases along the wall next to his room and the other two walls, three other upholstered chairs interspersed throughout, also green, a coffee table in front of the sofa, a long table to his left that was usually covered in books and two chairs for it, and a gray carpet running from one door to the other. The only entrances to this room were through one of the master bedrooms, and there were no windows or fireplaces. 

He had lived in the master suite since his father had been sent to Azkaban four years previous, though when he was feeling moody he would often retreat to what had been his room for twenty years. It was smaller than the master bedroom, but it was his. He didn't always feel that way about the master suite, but stayed there because he knew it was what was expected of him. Funny that he could throw what was expected of him out the window so easily for some things, but for something as small as this… he couldn't.

Or maybe it was just that he wouldn't. It was a matter of principle, he supposed. 

Draco shook his head, stopping at the door to his suite. He didn't particularly want to go in there. Glancing back into the sitting room, he turned around. It wasn't as though he had to; he could just stay here, in this room. Glancing to his right, the glimmer of a smirk appeared on his face. He did have plenty of work to do. It seemed Mr. Janis had dropped off the paperwork for all the estates… He certainly didn't remember leaving that much work on the table. 

He walked over and sat down at the head of the table, pulling the closest book to him and opening it. Financial records of the Hostern Estate. Another book—financial records of the Evergreen houses in northern York. The Thomas Andrews fund—a "charity" devised by his grandfather to scam Muggles out of their money. History of finances at Gringotts…

***

Thirty-three minutes later, Draco began to wonder why his father had never handed his finances over to someone who probably knew a lot better what they were doing.

On second thought, there was probably a rule against that somewhere in _What it Means to Be a Malfoy: Rules of Conduct_. He glanced across the room, squinting. There it was; second shelf from the top. He would have to use the ladder; not that he minded, really. It had been a while since he'd looked at the thing—besides, he could use a good laugh after looking through all those books.

After retrieving the book from its place and brushing off the dust that had accumulated over the years, Draco cracked the cover for the first time in what had been a very long time. 

  
  
__

What it Means to Be a Malfoy: Rules of Conduct

Written by Xavier Thames Malfoy, II

Revised by Thames Lucius Malfoy

  
  


Draco sighed; his great-great-great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather, both, of course, on his father's side. Xavier had died at the beginning of the First War with Voldemort when he had refused to join the Dark Lord, and Thames had been assassinated a few days later for reasons—and causes—unknown. Brushing the history from his mind, he turned to the contents.

  
  


Introduction…………………………………………………………………………………… p. 1

Chapter One: Associates…………………………………………………………………… p. 3

Chapter Two: Finances…………………………………………………………………… p. 29

  
  


And on and on it went. A Malfoy cannot hold a job and still be respectable… A Malfoy cannot associate with those lower than himself… A Malfoy cannot sell property, no matter how dire financial straits might be… A Malfoy can never show emotion, especially in public…

Draco's lip curled in a sneer—the first in a long time—and he closed the book with a snap, placing it on the table.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, holding the door open and peering around it to look at him. "What was that?" 

Draco looked up at her, feeling slightly foolish. Funny that he could get so upset about something so trivial… "It was nothing," he said, walking back to his seat.

Hermione walked farther into the room and closed the door, walking over to him. "What are you working on?" she asked, eyeing the many books in front of him with obvious curiosity.

"Mr. Janis must have dropped them off while we were gone," he said distractedly, watching her as she brushed a stray hair out of her face. "They're the finances of all the properties I now own, as well as the history of our accounts at Gringotts."

"Finances?" Hermione asked, suddenly looking very interested.

"Yes," Draco said. "Why?"

"Oh," she paused, "nothing."

Draco eyed her for a second before shrugging. "Well, I think I'm going to have to hire someone to keep track of all of this; I can't make much sense out of it. I was never very good at numbers."

"I am," Hermione said quickly.

"Oh?" Draco raised a brow.

Hermione nodded. "I love numbers. I do my own finances right now, and I used to do Elizabeth's, too." 

"Elizabeth?"

"She was my roommate," she explained, still looking at the books in front of Draco with what could almost be termed hunger.

"Well…" Draco said slowly, "If you're that good at numbers, you can see what you can do with them. It will probably be better than me, at any rate."

Hermione finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes with longing in her own. Draco suddenly had a fierce desire for her to be looking at him the same way, but for different reasons—basically, nothing to do with finances. "Really?" she asked.

Draco's mouth quirked wryly. "Sure," he said.

A smile blossomed on Hermione's face that indicated her pure pleasure, bringing a strange feeling to the pit of Draco's stomach. He shook it off, sure it was only a sign of hunger… for food, of course.

***

Hermione leaned over the books, her eyes flying over the numbers with nary a pause, except to make a note on the parchment Draco had found for her. He was sitting on the couch to her left, reading…something. She hadn't actually checked; she was much too busy doing what she loved: accounting. 

Had Hermione never found out she was a witch, she was almost entirely certain she would have gone into accounting. Not only did she like it, but she had a knack for it—something that many people had told her was not usual. Of course, she liked law almost as much, which was probably why she had decided to apply for a job at the Department of International Magical Cooperation in the International Magical Office of Law. 

"Hermione?" Draco asked.

Leaving her thoughts abruptly, Hermione was surprised to see that Draco was only a few feet away from her.

"It's time for dinner," he said, nodding at the clock to her right. 

Hermione looked at it with surprise; it was 8:00—dinner time, as Draco had mentioned earlier. She closed the books sadly. She honestly loved working on them, though she knew she really should think of her health—it wouldn't do well to starve. She also had her work, no matter she hadn't been promoted since… Alright: she had never been promoted. She was still working in one of the worst jobs, and definitely one of the worst-paid jobs, in the International Magical Office of Law. 

Standing, Hermione followed Draco out of the sitting room and through her room, making so many twists and turns that she soon stopped trying to figure out where they were heading and began paying attention to what was there. Statues were plentiful, as were photographs. After she asked a few questions, Draco began to explain nearly everything they came upon. Though he did so in a voice that portrayed just how much it bored him, Hermione didn't care; she was too busy absorbing all of the history of the Manor and its former inhabitants. 

Surprisingly, not all of the Malfoys had been "evil," as she often termed Draco's father. Many of them were pacifists, though some had "sat on the fence" about the larger issues, and all of them had been Slytherin. When Hermione stated this, Draco frowned and said, "You know, Hermione, Slytherin isn't necessarily an evil house. If you remember from our first year, the Sorting Hat said that those of great ambition would be placed in Slytherin—not those who are evil."

Hermione stayed quiet after that, feeling ashamed. She prided herself on being unprejudiced, but apparently, even after her best friend was married to one, she was still prejudiced against Slytherins. If she thought about it that way… Well, she was surprised that she hadn't ended up in Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw for that matter, what with her love of and thirst for knowledge. Ambition, Draco had said. Well, she had certainly had that in spades. And yet the Hat had been quite certain about its choice… 

She shook her head, knowing she shouldn't question a decision that had been made nearly thirteen years earlier. 

Dinner was wonderful. Catfish with a touch of lemon, rice, salad, sun-dried tomato-basil bread, and a wine Hermione was certain was aged at least twenty years. She said nothing when she caught sight of a house elf hurrying to serve them, still feeling embarrassed. She didn't think she should defend prejudice against house elves when she couldn't even accept that she was prejudiced against Slytherins. 

There was no conversation beyond the usual pleasantries; "Oh, the food is wonderful." "Thank you." "It was my pleasure." 

Hermione kept her eyes on her plate nearly the entire time, only glancing up at Draco twice. The rest of the time, she looked around the room. The table they were sitting at was wood, of course, but highly polished and carved on the edges, as were the ten chairs sitting around it. Hermione and Draco were sitting across from each other in the two center chairs, as opposed to the opposite ends. There was a chandelier decorating the ceiling, which was a plain white, and the walls were a deep green color—Hermione was starting to sense a pattern. 

And then, just as they were being served dessert (a wonderful to-die-for double-chocolate pie with whipped topping), the door to the dining room burst open.

"Draco!" a young, feminine voice shouted.

"Alicia," Draco said softly, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, as he closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

***************

_"It is better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."_

-Mark Twain


	7. Pride and Circumstance

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Seven: Pride and Circumstance_

Hermione was so used to filing and stamping the papers in the International Magical Office of Law that she was relatively certain she could have continued doing so had she fallen asleep. It was no small feat then—at least in her mind—that she was able to keep her train of thought while walking around the office and gathering the papers from the Outboxes before coming back to her desk to do what she needed to with them. 

Alicia Malfoy had arrived at the Manor one week earlier, quite unannounced. She had barged right in and treated Draco like a younger brother—which to her he no doubt was. After being introduced, Hermione discovered that Alicia was Draco's aunt—i.e., Lucius' sister. The fact that such a nice woman could be so closely related to Lucius Malfoy was almost beyond Hermione. She had taken an instant liking to Alicia—after she realized that Alicia and Draco were related, of course. Not that she would have admitted to jealousy. 

Alicia was currently staying a few doors down from the master suite, where her room had been maintained for her throughout her life. In a "house" the size of the Malfoys', Hermione could not say she was surprised. 

Dinner was a formal affair, and Draco and Hermione sat at opposite ends of the table with Alicia in the center on Hermione's right, Draco's left. Breakfast was eaten whenever you woke up, as the house elves kept the food warm. From what Hermione could tell, Draco was up with the sun and off to work shortly after. She always woke sometime around seven in the morning and left work through the Floo on the second floor to the Ministry building. Lunch was eaten in the Ministry cafeteria, and sometimes with Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, where she had taken up a job as a waitress. 

Thinking of Ginny made Hermione smile. The girl was blossoming wonderfully; pregnancy was definitely treating her well. Hermione could only hope it was the same for her… Whenever that might be, of course. Not that it would be soon—but she knew it would happen sometime in the future. Yes, in the future. 

Well, at least Ginny had Neville—no, correction. At least Ginny liked Neville and hadn't spent seven years hating him and knowing the feeling was returned. At least Ginny and Neville had been in the same house during their years at Hogwarts. At least…

Hermione shook her head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. That, however, was difficult, as she never needed to concentrate on the task. Especially since she had gotten back from her…vacation, actually. The work had seemed to be cut in half, and despite the fact that no one talked to her before, now no one talked to her at all. It seemed that conversations were ended abruptly whenever she entered hearing range, and it was starting to get on her nerves. 

She knew that she had caused the stir of the year by eloping with Draco, but did everyone have to talk about it so much? And in whispers, nonetheless! Honestly! She was a grown woman—she could handle a little gossip. 

It seemed no one trusted her anymore. That seemed to be the only answer, as whenever she would ask "Would you like me to do that for you?" or something like that, the answer was always "Oh, no, I can do it myself." She had no idea what could be the problem unless they didn't trust her. She used to do everything for everyone in the department. Well, except for Mr. Mason, the head. Since she had been hired, she hadn't seen him at all. He was always in his office by the time she got there, and had left before she was done with her work. 

Hermione gasped as a paper airplane smacked her forehead and fell to her desk. She frowned and shook her head. She still hadn't gotten used to the stupid things, though she had to admit they were better than owls. 

  
  


Hermione Granger:

Please report to Mr. Mason's office at 10:30.

- Amy Rosenbaum, Secretary to Bob Mason, Head of the International Magical Office of Law

  
  


Well. "Speak of the devil," she muttered under her breath, glancing at the clock. It was almost twenty-five after ten; she might as well head to his office. 

***

"Hello, Mr. Mason," Hermione smiled nervously, standing straight as a pin, her hands behind her back. 

"Please," he grinned at her, "call me Bob."

Hermione tilted her head. "Bob, then," she repeated. She wasn't entirely certain she should be calling him by his first name, but if he told her to… "What was it you wanted to speak to me about, sir?"

Bob waved a hand. "No sir, either; it makes me feel old." Glancing at a stack of papers on his rather messy desk, Bob said, "Ms. Granger—or, is it Mrs. Malfoy now?" His gray eyes twinkled at her as she gave him a small smile.

"Officially it's Ms. Granger-Malfoy, I suppose, but if I'm calling you Bob," Hermione said, taking a breath and deciding to take a figurative leap, "You should be calling me Hermione."

Bob chuckled. "Right you are, young lady. Well, then, Hermione, I called you to my office today because there have been a few certain people who have come up to me about your position in the International Magical Office of Law." Hermione's pulse sped up; surely he couldn't be firing her? "They have mentioned that you have been employed here for five and a half years at minimum wage, have never taken a vacation—minus your honeymoon, of course—and despite the many hours of overtime, have never earned more than your base salary."

Bob's face pulled into a frown. "Now, normally I don't involve myself in the smaller employees' affairs—that's for their immediate supervisors—but it appears to me that something isn't right. I don't know whether it was something your supervisor deliberately did or whether it was just a case of overlooking you, but due to your hard work, you should have been up for a promotion four years ago, and, if you had continued, again two years ago, and again this year. 

"Amazingly enough, one of my junior assistants just took maternity leave, and expressed her opinion that she probably wasn't going to return. Therefore, I believe you are up for a promotion. Junior Assistant to the Head of the International Magical Office of Law, is your official title, though around here you're just going to be referred to as a J.A. This new position involves a double in your annual salary, your own office, and," he paused, smiling, "a lot of work.

"In total there are three junior assistants, including you," Bob continued, leaning forward to grab a few sheets of paper off his desk and handing them to Hermione. "If your work is satisfactory and I believe you are doing a good job, you can expect a promotion to full assistant in as little as two years. As a junior assistant, you will be expected to do a lot of what you have been doing in your previous position, but also speak with other departments' J.A.s, and sometimes—as was the case just last year—travel with me to foreign countries. This is, after all, the International Magical Office of Law. In that case, we are usually helping someone get out of prison if they've done something illegal in a foreign country. Or at least get them transferred to Azkaban. 

"I think that's really all you need to know at this point. My secretary will show you to your office, and you can begin moving your supplies. Mandy, another junior assistant with whom you will be working, will show you around after lunch." Checking his watch, Bob said, "Which is right now, actually. So you can move your things after Marie explains anything I've forgotten and acquaints you with your new job. Do you have any questions?"

Hermione blinked. "No, sir," she said quietly, standing. "Thank you very much; I'll certainly work very hard. Are you sure I shouldn't just move my things now—"

"And miss lunch?" Bob raised his brows. "No, no; you can move your things after the lunch break. I hear there's a new special at the Three Broomsticks thanks to a new cook; you should try it. Off you go then?" he smiled at her. 

Hermione nodded, leaving the room quickly. Simply put, she was shocked. Amazed. Astounded. She had been promoted. Not just promoted, either—she had been promoted to a position which should have taken her three separate promotions. It was almost unbelievable… And yet, why? That was the only thing that kept her from jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her lungs. Why? Why had she been promoted for the first time after five and a half years? 

And her salary had been doubled? 

"Ms. Granger?" The secretary asked. 

Hermione blinked, the small, red-haired secretary coming into focus. "Yes?" she asked, furious with her self for losing control so quickly.

"My name is Amy; I'm Mr. Mason's secretary. Would you follow me, please? Your office is right this way," she said as she turned and walked past the entrance to Bob's office, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She was a young woman, but obviously proud of her position. She was dressed immaculately, and, Hermione noted after glancing at her desk, was extremely neat. Down the hall, past two doors… "Third door on the left," Amy said, pushing it open. "This is your new office. If there are any problems, please do not hesitate to inform me of them. I am not only Mr. Mason's secretary, but yours and the other J.A.s as well. The full assistants have their own secretaries." Nodding, as though to assure herself she hadn't forgotten anything, Amy smiled fleetingly and disappeared out of the hall.

Hermione walked into the office. It had a window. She remembered Harry telling her that Mr. Weasley didn't have a window. She had a window. 

She had a window and the thought—and sight—was almost bringing her to bits. 

Shaking herself, Hermione glanced around. The office was about three meters deep and four meters wide (by her estimations at least), and had no openings beside the window and the door, which were both situated in the middle of the wall across from each other. There was a desk in the middle of the room—metal—and a chair behind it. File cabinets lined the walls to her right and left, and empty bookcases were at her back. 

Hermione smiled, turning around slowly before speeding up, until she was nearly spinning, and laughed joyously.

"Hello, Hermione," a voice came from the open door. 

Hermione froze. "Ron; what are you doing here?" she asked, turning to look at him. He was the same as she last remembered. The same red hair, the same freckles, the same build… Nothing seemed to have really changed. 

Ron shrugged uncomfortably, glancing around the empty room. "I wanted to see how you were doing." He paused. "Nice place."

"Thanks," Hermione said shortly, "I was just promoted."

Ron nodded. "Of course," was all he said.

"Ron," Hermione repeated, "what are you doing here?"

"Can't I visit my best friend?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. 

"Ron, we haven't spoken since you said you were in love with someone else," Hermione hissed at him, folding her arms defensively.

Ron flinched. "Er, yes, about that…"

"What about it?" Hermione snapped. "We're through. You made sure of that more than two years ago. Tell me why you're here before I call security."

Ron held up his hands defensively. "Hermione, calm down. I wanted to invite you to lunch, is all. I thought we could catch up, for old times' sake. I mean, Harry just got married to Parkinson, and I figured…I thought we ought to try to fix what happened between us."

Hermione looked at her former best friend. She really didn't want to talk to him because of all the hurt he'd caused her, but at the same time…

She missed him. She missed his laughter, his odd sensitivity, his near-worship of Harry, his yearning to be something for himself… "Oh, Ron," she whispered sadly. She stepped forward, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her in return, pecking her lightly on the forehead. "Of course I'll go to lunch with you," she whispered into his ear before pulling back to look him in the eye. She smiled, despite the fact her eyes were wet with tears. 

"Hermione, don't cry…" Ron smiled shakily at her, wiping the corners of her eyes with his thumb. 

She shook her head, sniffling lightly. "I'm alright. Where are we going?" she asked.

"I figured Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor would be alright," he said hesitantly. "What do you think?"

Hermione smiled, linking her arm with her best friend's. "Alright," she said. "What have you been up to lately?" she asked as they walked out into the hallway.

"Oh, this and that, really," he said slowly, watching the ground. "I'm still playing for the Chudley Cannons as Keeper; not that they're doing much better anyway, with Harry's team always beating them to the punch," he grinned, turning his head to look at her.

Hermione smiled back, feeling a twinge in the pit of her stomach as she looked at her best friend. They might have parted badly, and one part of her might still hate him for it, but to her, he was still her best friend. 

***

Walking into Fortescue's, they had the kind of camaraderie one might expect from a married couple. Many of the patrons of the Parlor were older ones at this time of the year, who really had nothing more to do than sit and read about what their children and their children's children were doing in the world. It was therefore a very large surprise when Hermione Granger-Malfoy walked in on the arm of Ron Weasley, both laughing as though they had no other cares in the world.

Ron and Hermione had been a highly publicized couple when they were dating, not because of anything they had done in particular, but more because it was the best friends of Harry Potter. All of their former classmates believed it had only been a matter of time before Ron and Hermione realized they were meant for each other. The way they had fought while in school had made many sigh with wonder at how much two people could seem to be made to fit together. 

It was, therefore, extremely interesting to all of the people gathered at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for lunch when the two walked in together. No one had expected their break-up; everyone had expected the make-up.

However, it had not happened. And now, it seemed it finally was—the only problem was the very prevalent fact that Hermione Granger was now married to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione was only partially aware of the stares she was receiving. She could feel the stares upon her, but she had no idea why she was receiving them. In many ways very much an innocent, she had never realized just how much everyone enjoyed reading about the love lives of the rich and famous—or in her case, just the famous. Or rather, now that she was married to Draco…

Oh, dash it all. 

The point was, Hermione decided to ignore those who were staring at her, and concentrate on one stare only—that of her best friend, Ronald Weasley. He was, just now, explaining to her the particulars of his fellow teammates' horrid luck with the ladies. "—and he never called her again!" he finished, gesturing widely with his free hand.

Hermione giggled. She couldn't remember Ron ever telling such fun stories before. But perhaps he just hadn't known them. "Oh, Ron, that was hilarious," she gasped as they sat down at one of the booths. 

"I thought you might think so," he grinned at her. He glanced up at the counter. "I'll get your lunch for you; what would you like?"

"Oh, fish and chips will be fine," Hermione said, still grinning. Letting her hand slide along his arm as he stood, she watched as he went up to the counter. He really hadn't changed much… Besides gaining quite a bit of self-confidence, that is. She wondered if that would have happened if they had stayed together…

Hermione sighed. This really wasn't the time to think about the past, but she couldn't stop thinking about it! They—whoever they were—always said that you should let the past alone and move on with your life, but the fact was, everything she did was the past. Or rather, everything she did had to do with the past. The whole thing with Draco… It wouldn't have happened if she'd never been going out with Jeff. Jeff had been the last straw. She probably would have been able to get through the money thing alright if it hadn't been for her pride. The price for catering to her pride had been high, it seemed. 

Now she was eating lunch with one of her best friends. He hadn't been her best friend for a while though, not since their last failed attempt at romance. 

Hermione shook it from her mind, smiling as Ron came back with the food. He'd gotten the same thing as well. "Lunch is served," he said, smiling. 

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione grinned at him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both rather hungry after working. After Ron had made it halfway through his fish (though he hadn't yet started on the chips), he spoke. "Hermione, I wanted to talk to you about something."

Hermione raised a brow. "Well?"

"It's about this Malfoy thing," he said uncomfortably, setting his fork and knife down before leaning his head on his right hand. "I don't get it. You hated him in school, just like the rest of us, and now you're married to him!"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "It's all rather complicated," she said carefully.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "If you had said that you loved him," he said, watching her for any reaction, "I would have dropped the matter. But you're saying it's complicated, and I don't like the sound of that, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "It, well, it is complicated, Ron. It's a very large combination of circumstances and, in the end, pride."

"Pride," Ron repeated dryly. "I don't get it. Why the devil did you marry him?!" he demanded.

"Keep your voice down," Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing as she quickly surveyed the customers. They didn't seem to be watching—but you never really knew. Taking a deep breath and unclenching her fist from her napkin, she continued. "I suppose I should start from the beginning. The only reason the possibility came about in the first place was because Lucius Malfoy, in his will, stated that the only way Draco would get his inheritance money was if he married me." At Ron's incredulous look, she elaborated, waving a hand in the air. "I'm relatively certain that Malfoy's father found out about his spying for us, and decided to 'reward' his son in the worst way possible—by marrying me. Anyway, I never would have considered it if the rent hadn't gone up and then Elizabeth, my roommate, announced that she was leaving for France in two months. I hadn't gotten a pay-raise since the minimum wage was raised, and I definitely hadn't been promoted. 

"Now, I probably would have been able to get around all of that, but then… Well, not long after I broke up with you, I met Jeff. He was a Ravenclaw a few years above us at Hogwarts, and works at the Ministry now. I met him at one of those galas they're always holding nowadays." Hermione sighed, picking at the fish with her fork. "We dated for almost two and a half years. I thought…" She sniffed, holding a hand up to her eyes, trying to contain her tears. "I thought he loved me, and I know I loved him." 

Ron came around the table, knelt in front of her and took her in his arms where she began to sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered, knowing she was getting his robes wet and that she was making a scene. Ron just said "Shh," and continued rubbing her back. After she got control of her tears, she sighed, pulling back. 

"Thank you," she whispered. "I haven't had the chance to tell anyone about it yet." She shrugged, looking at the ceiling. "I mean, I thought that he loved me… But the day after the reading of the will, I was coming back from the Burrow—I was visiting Ginny—and I decided to stop by his house." She took a deep breath, looking back at Ron, who was still kneeling in front of her. "He was cheating on me, Ron," she whispered. Though her eyes filled with tears again, this time she was able to blink them back. "And I lost it. I said that it was no big deal he was cheating on me, since I'd been doing the same and was getting married to Draco Malfoy anyway. It was a split-second decision, but I couldn't back down again." Hermione laughed bitterly. "I suppose that's the price for pride, isn't it?"


	8. Look Out Upon the World

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Chapter Eight: Look Out Upon the World_

The day was cold. It was the first thing that registered in Hermione's mind when she woke up the morning after her promotion. She shivered, burrowing deeper into the incredibly soft covers; she could not think of anything to compare them to, they were so soft. Who cared about work when it was so cold, and one had such a wonderfully warm bed to stay in? She knew she would have to go in--she had just received her first promotion in five years, after all, and she did not intend to bungle it by not showing up on her first real day as a Junior Assistant to the Head of her department. 

Sighing as she shifted in the bed, attempting to find an even warmer spot--if that were possible--Hermione wondered what had awoken her. A glance out the large window across the room showed her that the sun had barely risen; she rarely, if ever, awoke quite this early. Only once, during her honeymoon, had she seen the sky with its purple and pink hue: Draco had rolled off the couch before he had woken up, waking her in the process. He had not known he'd woken her, and she didn't make any attempt to bring the fact to his attention. There was no point in his knowing, after all.

Hermione giggled, remembering his look of utter astonishment at falling off the couch. It had been all she could do to keep her giggles to herself when it had happened, but definitely worth it. She felt better this morning than she had in quite a long while. The honeymoon had been wonderful, a break from the ordinary, but yesterday's talk with Ron... That had been the ordinary she had missed, the ordinary that had taken a hike after their second break-up. She could not stand to be around him after that, and ignored all his attempts at consoling her, all of his attempts to make amends and be the friends they had always been. 

She had not realized just how much she'd missed one of her best friends until she'd gotten him back. It had been wonderful to spill everything to him, to explain about Jeff, and the will, and Draco, to someone other than herself. Doing so helped her to make sense of it, as well as getting it off her chest. She almost literally felt five pounds lighter, as though Jeff's betrayal had been a weight that refused to leave. She knew now she would not have been able to tell anyone except one of her best friends, but Harry was still in Greece on his honeymoon (they were planning on a month's tour), and Ginny had enough to deal with on her own, what with the pregnancy and attempting to provide for the baby when it came. 

Having Ron come along had nearly been a miracle, and she had thoroughly enjoyed their lunch together. They were planning on another lunch today, as they still were not as caught up as they would have liked to be. Ron had not asked any more questions about her abrupt marriage to their worst enemy after her tearful confession, choosing instead to entertain her with anecdotes gleaned from his teammates. She learned all about Everett Smith's watermelon fetish, Winnie Carmichael's flirting with anything that moved (male or female), and Tim Randall's utter lack of originality when it came to pick-up lines.

After her lunch break finished, Hermione had returned to the Ministry, glad to find a woman waiting in her office to show her around the rest of department. It turned out the 'Mandy' the Head had briefly mentioned was in fact a former schoolmate of Hermione's--Mandy Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw from her year at Hogwarts. It had been a pleasant surprise to find that one of her old study-mates was still around, and that they would be working together. She and Mandy had both had Arithmancy, and often met in the library the day before any homework was due, checking the other's work for mistakes (however infrequent those were). Most of the time they had fun discussing the in's and out's of the subject, however.

Still, they hadn't kept touch after Hogwarts. Mandy had been a friend, the type you said 'hi' to in the corridors and always hoped you would be paired with for class projects. She had never been as close to the girl as she was to Ginny, Harry, or Ron, but she had been, in a way, a break from the ordinary. She and Mandy had caught up quite well about what had happened in the six years since they had graduated. Mandy, a Muggleborn herself, had actually started out at the Daily Prophet as a correspondent in France before she became acquainted with Bob Mason the year before, and he had offered her a job in his department. 

The other JA was a man who was younger than both of them, and had only been in the position for a little longer than Mandy; his name was Stewart Ackerley. He had been at Hogwarts three years after them, in Ravenclaw, and when Hermione had mentioned that she could not remember him, he'd blushingly said that not very many people did. Mandy had then grinned and said, "But his girlfriend sure doesn't."

"Oh?" Hermione had answered.

Mandy nodded to one of the pictures on Stewart's desk, depicting a young woman with a very hard face, though her eyes seemed kind and she was smiling and waving. "That's Orla Quirke; she was in his year as well. They were both in my house." She smiled. "I'm afraid I didn't remember him very well when I first got here either. He doesn't seem to mind."

"Just like I don't mind when you talk about me like I'm not here," Stewart said, raising a brow.

"Yes, there is that," Mandy said, grinning at him.

Hermione smiled, remembering their banter. If they hadn't both professed to having a lover (though Stewart hadn't said any such thing, Mandy had certainly alluded to as much), she would have thought them to be married, or at least dating. Mandy was rather seriously involved with Dean Thomas, one of Hermione's fellow Gryffindors. She was amazed at how much she had missed in five years by not keeping up with the news. Parvati Patil and Colin Creevey had eloped almost directly after his graduation, and were now the proud parents of identical twin girls. 

Hyacinth Roberts and Graham Pritchard, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin, respectively, had started the Albus Dumbledore Magical Orphanage, for children who had lost their parents during the Second War. Graham and Hyacinth were married and had three children, two of which they had adopted from the ADMO. Hermione had met both of them during the war, Graham trailing after Hyacinth, and she being nearly completely oblivious. Graham had been one of the only Slytherins Hermione could say she truly liked, and she was glad to learn that he was doing well, while at the same time upset that she hadn't thought to check after him.

Hermione glanced at the clock again, noting it was still before six. She never got up until a bit after seven; she could afford to stay in bed at least a little longer.

***

Draco sat at his desk at the Ministry building, staring at the blank wall. He supposed he could be staring out at the false scenery outside the window behind him, but he wasn't thinking quite that coherently yet. He had arrived at the office in a relatively good mood, mostly due to his aunt. Alicia was very much unlike his father, though he really had no idea why that was. Alicia and his father had attended the same school--though Alicia had been a year ahead of her younger brother--they had both become Death Eaters, and they had been raised by the same man. 

He often wondered whether he was really more like his aunt than like his father. Not because of their views of Voldemort, but because of their ambition. His aunt was ambitious, of course; all Malfoys were. However, Lucius was more ambitious, he had more drive--and Draco had a feeling that was why Lucius had wanted power so much. Alicia hadn't wanted power, at least not very much. Well, everyone wanted power, of course. But some people went to some lengths to get it, and others...didn't. 

Now that he reflected on it, he was rather surprised he had never noticed the similarities between Professor Snape and his aunt. They had both become spies after becoming Death Eaters, they had both been born to Pureblood families, and they were both still single after more than twenty years out of school.

But he didn't need to think about a possible affair between his favorite professor and his only aunt right now.

Where had he been? Oh, yes. He had arrived at the office in a fairly good mood, early as usual. After he had pulled out the folders he would need to complete the morning's work, he had sat down at his desk and begun to thumb through them, the closest thing anyone had ever seen to a smile on his lips. About half-past nine, he pulled out a croissant he had taken from the breakfast table at the Manor and eaten it, sipping some coffee Bruce had brought him earlier. 

All was well. Bruce dropped in periodically, placing new folders on his desk and taking the ones Draco had finished. By lunchtime, Draco had finished all the work needed done by the end of the day, and already started on some not due until the next. Just when he had started contemplating going out for lunch, Bruce had stepped back into his office.

"Mr. Malfoy, there's woman here to see you."

"Is it my wife?" Draco asked, not looking up from his desk, where he was looking through some notes he had taken a few months back on the Iraq case.

_"No, sir," Bruce said, taking a step inside the office and closing the door. "She says she's from the _Daily Prophet_," he added._

"Well?" Draco said, looking at his secretary with one brow raised. "Is there a reason you haven't shown her in yet?"

Bruce looked troubled. "She says her name is Eleanor Branstone."

Draco's hands froze in their places. Eleanor Branstone had graduated from Hogwarts only two years before, and taken an internship at the Daily Prophet immediately. She had risen quickly, her success at ferreting out truth better than the famous Rita Skeeter's. It didn't help that he suspected all she did was tell the truth; she was best at finding people's deepest, darkest secrets, the ones they kept hidden but she was always able to ferret out. It was not a good thing if she went knocking on your door. "Show her in, Bruce."

The young man nodded, glancing at his boss one more time before closing the door. Draco heard voices speaking outside of his office, and steeled himself. He knew it wouldn't have done any good to send her away. She would have been back within an hour--if she had consented to leave at all. And if she hadn't consented...well, then she would have put up quite the fuss. If nothing else, she was a good journalist. She didn't give up, and she didn't let anything or anyone get in her way.

"Draco," she said, stepping inside his office with a smile. Bruce walked ahead of her and pulled out a seat for Eleanor, waiting until she was settled before leaving and closing the door.

"Eleanor," he said, nodding his head. "How have you been lately?"

"Quite good," she said airily. "I've been seeing one of your old school chums lately, Blaise Zabini."

Draco gave her a tight smile. "Having fun, I hope. He's reputed to be quite the acrobat."

Eleanor's eyes flashed briefly before returning to their pale state. "Like you weren't?"

"I never earned quite the reputation he did, you know."

"Only because you made sure to keep it quiet," Eleanor shot back. She took a deep breath, continuing with almost no pause. "But that's not why I'm here." She returned his earlier smile, though hers seemed more genuine. Reaching into the bag Draco hadn't even noticed when she'd come in, she pulled out a sheet of parchment and what he could only assume was a Quick-Notes Quill. He hoped it wasn't the same type Rita Skeeter had been known to use. 

"No, I never assumed it was," Draco murmured, sitting back in his chair and twirling his quill in his right hand.

"Now then," Eleanor began, all business now. "I would like to ask you a few questions pertaining to the scene in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor yesterday."

"Wait," Draco said, holding up his left hand, his right still twirling the quill. "I wasn't at Fortescue's yesterday. I haven't been there in more than three years."

Eleanor's polite smile suddenly vanished, an almost eery grin taking its place. "So you have no idea of the display your wife and her former boyfriend put on yesterday?"

Draco's quill dropped to the floor. He didn't notice as it began to stain the carpeted floor beneath him. "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday," Eleanor said, looking at notes she had pulled out of her bag immediately after her last pronunciation, "at about one o'clock in the afternoon, Hermione Granger-Malfoy and Ronald Weasley were seen together at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor by at least fifteen patrons of the shop."

"Well that's hardly a crime," Draco interrupted her, hoping that was all she had--because if something else had happened, if Weasley and Hermione had done anything suspicious...

Eleanor's grin widened. "No, it isn't. But about halfway through their meal, Miss Granger-Malfoy burst into tears and sobbed on the shoulder of Mister Weasley as he was holding her in his arms."

"So what?" Draco demanded.

_"Mr. Malfoy," Eleanor said, "almost three years ago, Mister Weasley and the then-Miss-Granger were one of the most highly-publicized relationships in the Wizarding world. Their break-up was my first piece for the _Daily Prophet_, and I said in that piece, after quoting from many of their fellow students--including Mister Weasley's sister, also Miss Granger's best friend--that it was only a matter of time before the two made up. The fact is that they never made up--until now. And right now, Miss Granger is no longer Miss Granger--she is Miss Granger-Malfoy, and she is married to you."_

The interview had gone downhill after that. Not that it hadn't been bad before—but at least it had been bearable. After that, he'd refused to answer any of Eleanor's questions. He had a feeling that she was more satisfied with that response than she would have been with any other. She'd left, that grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye that could only spell trouble. He couldn't believe she had been a Hufflepuff; she seemed much too devious to have escaped Slytherin. 

So now Draco was staring at the empty wall across from his desk, trying to get his thoughts under control. And his fists. They kept balling up, wanting something to punch—or rather, someone. Who that someone was, Draco wasn't certain. It could have been Hermione, which was very possible considering the fact that she was risking exposing his father's will (because why else would they have gotten married if they didn't love each other?); it could be Weasley, since it really was his stupid fault Eleanor Branstone had come knocking on his door. However, he had a feeling he knew exactly who it was that he was itching to knock out.

The bad thing was that person was dead. Lucius Malfoy was dead, and unless he wanted to dig the old man out of his cold grave, he would have to forget about it and let the hate go. 

Of course, there was always the very pleasurable alternative of punching Weasley. 

Why had Lucius trapped him into a marriage with a Mudblood? Why had he cared enough to want to make his son's life miserable? Was he just that much of a sick bastard?

Draco's face screwed up in a nearly ferocious growl as he picked up his coffee mug and threw it against the far wall. The shattering sound it elicited gave him at least a partial satisfaction, feeling that at least he could still do something, he wasn't inept or stupid or any of the things his father had accused him of, thoughts his father had no doubt brought to the grave with him. 

He sometimes felt that he was in turmoil, a horrendous turmoil for which there was no end, no hope, and no escape.

And as the coffee trickled down the wall, leaving a brown stain behind it for Bruce to clean later, Draco laid his head in his arms, barely noticing when a single tear made its solitary way down his cheek.

*************

Coming up (by Saturday, October 25, 2003, at 10:00 PM EST): The confrontation between Draco and Hermione—just what is going to come out, and what will they wish they hadn't said?


	9. Tonight

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Chapter Nine: Tonight_

Hermione breathed in deeply, a smile of accomplishment on her face as she looked around her office. Everything was in its place and nothing was out of order; she couldn't have been more pleased with how it looked. She glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly five o'clock—the workday was almost over, and she wouldn't have to come back until Monday. In a way, she was glad. Though she'd been mostly caught up in the wonder and joy at having been hired, there was a nagging bit of…_something_…just beyond her reach that would not leave her alone. Something was wrong, something wasn't right—and she knew it had to do with her job.

She didn't know why she'd been hired like that. It seemed so strange to have been hired in one shot to what should have taken three separate promotions from a lower position, plus a very large amount of hard work and recommendations from her superiors. And yet, so far as she knew, not a single person had spoken of her to Bob Mason. Oh, she'd had references of course—but how had they been able to talk so well of her that he wanted to hire her as one of his personal assistants? So what had happened? Why had they hired her like that when there were probably people waiting for her position who had been waiting for a long time? She didn't want to create discord in the Ministry; there was already too much of it, thanks to the war. It might have been over, but that didn't mean the aftermath was done with as well.

A frown marred her face as she stood, deciding it wouldn't hurt to have a word with Mandy before the workday was over. She walked out of her office and across the hall, knocking briefly on the door before entering. Mandy was sitting at her desk, writing, and looked up, a smile of welcome on her face. "Hello, Hermione," she said, setting down her quill. "Something you need?"

"Er, yes." Hermione suddenly felt very awkward, barging into Mandy's office with no real idea of what she was going to say. "I was just wondering…" What to ask? She couldn't just say, 'Hey, you wouldn't happen to know if there was anything funny with Bob hiring me, would you?' No, definitely not. Thinking quickly, she opted for the subtle approach. "I was just curious," Hermione said, smiling and glancing around the office, eyeing each part of it equally. "How did Bob Mason choose you to be one of his JA's?"

"I thought I told you already, Hermione," Mandy said, her tone amused as she leaned over to riffle through a drawer. She continued, her voice muffled, "I was a correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_, and he met me and decided I had the credentials to be a good JA. The pay was enough of an increase from what I was earning from the _Prophet that I didn't mind saying yes when he asked me. Why?"_

"I was just curious," Hermione said again. "I mean, I've been waiting for a position like this for six years, and then all of a sudden I'm called to his office and I'm hired here."

"Well," Mandy said, finally finding the papers she had been looking for and reappearing behind the desk. "I've never really viewed it as something odd. He might have made it sound like a wonderful, high-up position, but really you're starting at the bottom. The JA's and department heads and secretaries really are separate jobs. Your job at that private firm of yours wasn't doing much for you. If you ask me, Bob plucked you out of there because he realized that you weren't going to get anywhere."

Hermione flushed, embarrassed that she would have warranted such rash action. "I, er, that is…"

Mandy grinned. "Don't worry about it. I know what it's like very well. Muggleborn, a woman, and brains—what a combination, right?" She chuckled, glancing at the clock. "Well, would you look at that? The day's finally over. Say, are you up to coming out with me for drinks?"

"I don't drink—" Hermione began.

"I know," Mandy waved a hand, dismissing her protest. "I meant something more along the lines of Butterbeer or Pumpkin Juice. I don't drink much, myself, as I never did before. How do you feel about going to Diagon Alley? I haven't been there in forever, and I would love to see what it's like. I also have some birthday presents to shop for," she grinned. Mandy walked around the room, gathering up her things. "Well, what do you say?"

Hermione smiled. "Sure."

***

Walking up to the Floo connection, Hermione grinned at Mandy. "That was fun," she said. "We need to do it more often."

"Oh, definitely," Mandy said, her eyes twinkling. She held up the bag. "I'm so glad; I got Dean the perfect gift. He's going to love it!"

Hermione waved, throwing the powder into the fireplace and yelling, "Malfoy Manor!" She'd had a wonderful time with Mandy, shopping—and sometimes just looking—for nearly three hours. She was getting tired, and felt she might actually get to bed at a decent hour tonight.

"Hello, Hermione," Draco said from his perch on the edge of the couch, facing the fireplace. 

"Hi, Draco," she said, her brow furrowed. Draco never greeted her when she came home from work…especially when she was three hours late. "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not," he said, a brief smile flitting across his face. "I'm sure there isn't anything wrong. After all, why would there be something wrong if Eleanor Branstone stopped by my office today to question me about a scene at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor? I'm sure there's nothing wrong when it makes the front page news tomorrow."

Hermione's face grew pale as she listened to him. As he spoke, his voice continued to get colder and colder, until now he was like the Draco she had known and hated at Hogwarts. She didn't say anything; wasn't certain if he _wanted her to say anything. He was sitting on the couch's arm, staring at her with his head tilted to one side as though waiting for something. Had this not been such an extremely serious situation, and had his face not been devoid of all emotion, he might have looked devilishly handsome sitting as he was._

However, she really should not be thinking of such things at a time like this. 

"Hermione?" Draco asked, a brow rising slowly in question. 

She gulped. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, knew that she had done nothing wrong, but the way he kept staring at her told a different story. "Ron and I are just friends," Hermione whispered, her voice finally returning. 

"It really doesn't matter what you say, you know," Draco said, finally standing and walking towards her. "Tomorrow it will be all over the front page news, and it will be the talk of the day, if not the month. 'New Malfoy Wife Cries In Arms of Weasley.' I very much doubt that they or anyone else will buy that we fell in love and eloped because we couldn't wait any longer to pledge our lives to each other." His voice was low, and he stood directly in front of her, looking down his nose and raising one arrogantly superior eyebrow. "Do you?"

"No…" she said, resisting the urge to back up. She might have thought she had gumption, but at this point it had fled, leaving her scared. "Please, Draco," she whispered, not really certain what she was begging for. She had stood up to Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, and a Weasley in a temper, but for some reason Draco's attitude was scaring her to the quick. She had never before seen him like this.

"Please what?" he hissed. "Please give me a divorce to let me out of this horrid marriage you've trapped me into? Please let me leave and run to my ickle Ronniekins? Please WHAT, Hermione?"

"Draco…" she whispered, finally giving in and taking a step back. 

Something registered in his eyes, something she hadn't seen before, and he stepped back, the mask dropping. He seemed shocked, and almost…scared. 

"Draco?" she asked, standing her ground but straightening, curiosity overriding her fear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and ran.

Hermione watched as he disappeared up the stairs, towards his room she presumed. What had just happened? He had been angry, definitely angry. And she had been scared, frightened of what he might do. He was, after all, his father's son. She hadn't even thought to use her wand—she hadn't even remembered she was a witch! If she had, she wouldn't have almost begged for him to stop, to leave her alone. 

What on earth had just happened? 

An hour later, after finding the kitchen and convincing the house elves to give her a late meal, she was still wondering. Draco was still upstairs, or at least she assumed he was, as he hadn't appeared in the dining room. She had no idea where Alicia had disappeared to, either, but hoped she would be back soon. Perhaps his aunt could shed some light on his strange behavior, and maybe help her decide what to do.

She sighed, placing her head in her arms and staring across the room at a portrait of one of the Malfoy ancestors. The man in the portrait looked amazingly like Draco, though in the picture he was older. He was sleeping; a lock of blond hair—it had been cut short, as opposed to the style Lucius Malfoy had kept his in—had fallen into his face. His hands were folded in his lap, large, gaudy rings decorating the first and ring fingers on both hands. 

Hermione wondered idly if all his ancestors looked so regal, even in their sleep. She didn't think it was something she would ever get up the courage to ask, but it was something all the same. 

Abruptly, she stood up and marched across the room, up the stairs, through her room, and the sitting room, and into Draco's bedroom.

As soon as she got there, she wished she hadn't. There really wasn't anything worse than walking in on someone in trousers and with no shirt—well, unless they were completely naked, she supposed. But this still was not very good. No, not very good at all. She cleared her throat, and Draco turned away from the window, raising a brow. "Yes, Hermione?" he asked softly, looking her up and down. 

A light blush stained Hermione's cheeks as she realized she had no idea what she was going to say. Second time in one day, she thought wryly. "Er, I was just wondering if you were all right."

Draco turned back to the window. "I'm fine," he said, his voice cold again.

Gaining more courage, though she wasn't sure of the source, Hermione took a step forward. "Then why did you leave so abruptly earlier?"

His shoulders stiffened, but he didn't move. "Does it matter?"

"I think it does," she said, taking a few more steps forward. There were less than two metres between them now. When he didn't say anything, she took another step, lessening the distance even more. She swallowed nervously. "Please, Draco," she whispered, "tell me."

The next few seconds were full only of silence, a bird's cry echoing distantly, the sound barely registering in Hermione's brain as she waited, her heart in her ears, for Draco's answer. 

And after what could have been an hour, though in reality was only about two minutes, it came.

"When you grow up with my father," Draco began, not turning around, his voice rough, "you learn things quickly. What to say, what to do, what might earn you points or what might cause you to lose them with him. I learned early on to stifle my emotions when I was around him, because when I showed anything except hatred, he would get angry. He never beat me, he never laid a hand on me—but that doesn't mean I didn't fear for it. 

"I promised myself, the day after I graduated from Hogwarts that I would never become him, that I would never follow the road he had tread, and that never would someone fear me as I did him. I broke that promise today," he whispered. "I was so angry that I wasn't paying any attention to you. I was just… I was so angry…"

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes, tears of pity, tears full of pain and suffering for him—for Draco. It wasn't something she had ever expected, given he had been the most insufferable prat in school, and even out of it. They had never gotten along when at meetings with the Order of the Phoenix, and hadn't seen each other after that. But now, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her head in his back. One hand covered her own as the other sought to steady his body by grabbing the windowsill.

His body was shaking, though whether it was with tears or just suppressed sobs, she wasn't sure. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, allowing the tears to leak out and wet the back of Draco's…

…Very bare back. Hermione froze, her tears evaporating very quickly as she realized just what she had done. She had hugged—wait, she was _still hugging—Draco Malfoy, and he had no shirt on. He seemed to be noticing the same thing, as his body had stopped shuddering, and he was now turning around very slowly in her arms. Completing the turn, one of his hands came down to pull her chin up, and he looked her in the eye. "Thank you," he said, his voice seeming sincere. She smiled tremulously, watching him carefully. His eyes, though they had a tinge of sadness in them, contained no trace of tears. Hermione sighed inside, saddened that he hadn't been able to shed a single one. _

And quite suddenly, she was jerked away from her thoughts as Draco's mouth came down to cover hers. 

Something happened. Something amazing and, well, _earth-shattering_, as he touched his lips to hers. It wasn't anything so dramatic as fireworks exploding or bombs going off, it was so much…simpler. When he touched his lips to hers, something in her chest expanded, and she opened her mouth to bring in air, air she felt she desperately needed to stop the rising emotion she did not recognize—and instead of air, though she did get some initially, his tongue entered, touching hers almost hesitantly, as though he didn't know what she would do in response.  

Bringing her arms up from where they had rested at his sides, she wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself up and angling her head so as to allow him the best possible access. The hand that had tilted her head up came to rest at the back of her neck, and the other wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She hadn't felt this kind of emotion when kissing someone since…

Since…

Since when? She couldn't remember ever _feeling_ so much when she'd kissed someone before.

Just when it was getting to the point when she couldn't bear it anymore, and felt that something had to give, she felt something warm and wet on her cheeks. She opened her eyes and pulled away from Draco, taking in large, deep breaths, attempting to get her breathing—if nothing else—under control. She was shocked to see there were tears running down his cheeks in waves, his eyes closed and his cheeks clenched. Hermione reached up, wiping his cheeks with both of her hands. "Draco?" she whispered, her hands resting on his cheeks, cupping his face as she stared at him worriedly.

His eyes opened slowly, the tears slowly coming to a halt. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no!" she exclaimed, shaking her head quickly. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she said firmly. 

Draco's mouth quirked slightly. "Sure," he said, the disbelief evident in his voice.

Hermione smiled at him. "Come on," she said, hoping she was doing the right thing, and led him to his bed. "Up," she said, pointing to it. 

Draco raised a brow, folding his arms. All signs of tears were gone on his pale face. "Why?"

"Because you need sleep," Hermione said. "If…_that_ is going to be on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow, we're going to both have long days. I'll go to bed as well; it shouldn't be difficult, considering how busy my day was." She waited, watching him. There was the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes, something that reminded her of the Draco she had known in school and yet at the same time was so unlike him it mystified and amazed her. Giving a frustrated sigh at her musings, not to mention he still hadn't moved, she threw up her hands and stomped back through the sitting room and into her room, slamming her door shut behind her. 

She twisted her lips, biting on the inside. Why wouldn't he listen to her? It hadn't been such a horrible idea, to get some sleep. They would both need it the next day if Eleanor Branstone really had a story to go with—and Hermione didn't doubt Draco was telling the truth. There really was no other way he could have found out about her lunch with Ron, right? Gods, she hoped so. Unless he had people following her… Hermione stomped on that thought harshly. She wouldn't think such things unless she had actual proof, which she certainly did not. 

She eyed the bed longingly, and decided not to take her normal bath or to even change—she was just too tired. Kicking off her shoes and plain black robes, now clad only in a skirt and blouse, she hesitated before reaching down to remove the tights from her legs. She propped a leg on the chair beside the bed, rolling the nylon down slowly, still thinking about Draco and _that whole problem. _

She'd married him, yes. She had explained to Ron that it had been no more than a combination between pride and circumstance. And maybe it had been, at the beginning. But she was beginning to realize that something had changed between then and now; she had a feeling the cruise had helped quite a bit. On the cruise, they hadn't been Malfoy and Granger, or even Malfoy and Malfoy-Granger—they'd just been Draco and Hermione. She hadn't really thought the cruise had affected her very much; it hadn't seemed as though it mattered much at all. However, she was beginning to realize it mattered quite a bit. 

On the cruise, they'd actually had fun. Draco hadn't smiled very much, but she had. He hadn't been cold to her, even when she'd insisted he sleep on the couch and that he leave the room whenever she changed. He'd actually seemed amused by it. She felt a light blush tinge her cheeks just thinking about the way he'd looked at her. 

She sighed, looking down and realizing she had finished her right leg. She'd been too caught up in her thoughts, yet again. Leaning over, she pulled it the rest of the way off and tossed it in the general direction of her closet. Just as she rolled the other over her knee, she felt a soft breeze coming from behind her. Turning her head toward it, she was shocked to see Draco looking at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. 

***

Draco thought he'd never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. When he'd followed Hermione through the door just a couple of minutes after she'd closed it, intending to apologize—a feat in itself, considering he'd been taught never to apologize to anyone, even if it really was his fault—he had opened the door quietly, hoping not to alarm her. He had been completely unprepared to see her barefooted and balancing precariously on the edge of a chair while rolling down her pantyhose. 

He swallowed harshly, realizing very quickly just what he'd been missing when she shooed him out of the door for her to change. Her legs were amazing. She wasn't very tall, more than a head shorter than he was, but her legs were… Just amazing. Her hair had been in a bun earlier, as it always was, but bits of it were falling out, lying on her neck. Draco realized he had no idea how long her hair really was. She slept with it braided, and even braided it was down to the middle of her back. He knew he should make a noise, make _any_ noise, as it wasn't polite to just stand there while she was so obviously getting undressed and ready for bed, but he couldn't move, let alone make a sound. 

To his left, Draco realized the window was open. A cool breeze swept through, sending the hair on his arms up—and apparently alerting Hermione, as she turned around, the second hose halfway down her leg, to see him staring at her and unable to move. Her eyes widened, and she lost her balance, falling flat on her bottom. She swore loudly, smacking the chair with her palm and blushing. 

Her fall broke Draco out of his trance, and he hurried over, giving her a hand to help her up. He was only glad her skirt had stayed in its place, although the other side of his brain argued differently. "Hermione?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Are you all right?"

She gave a short laugh. "Of course I'm all right," she said, "I just lost my balance while pulling off my stockings; of course I'm all right. I'm so clumsy," she muttered.

Draco smirked and placed one hand under her chin, distantly realizing he had done this not ten minutes earlier, although they had been in a different room at the time. "I don't mind," he whispered, his mouth drifting down to cover hers softly. He took his time, exploring her lips as though he had all the time in the world. One of his hands cupped the back of her neck while the other came down to her back, pulling her against him tightly. She moaned, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

"Draco," she whispered as he pulled away briefly to nuzzle her neck. 

His head came up. "Hermione?" he asked, hoping she understood the question he was implying.

She opened her eyes, running her hands through the hair at the base of his neck. "Yes," she said. "But," she pulled one arm away from his neck to put a finger to his lips. "I need you to know something." She closed her eyes, a light blush staining her cheeks. "I've never done this before."

A very masculine sort of pride filled Draco's system, and he allowed an almost feral grin to overtake his face. Hermione opened her eyes to look at him, and he said, "Well, we'll just have to remedy that, won't we?"

She smiled slightly, moaning again when his lips came down on hers. Draco smiled against them, his thumb rubbing the back of her neck. This would certainly be a night to remember.

***

Much later, Hermione lay in Draco's arms, staring into the dark room. He was curled around her, one hand resting on her abdomen while the other rested just beneath her breasts. Her hands were resting on his as she revelled in the warmth of his body surrounding hers. It hadn't been nearly as painful as she had feared, and certainly expected from what she had heard from books. It had even been pleasurable, though at the same time it had fallen slightly short of her expectations. 

Then again, didn't everything fall short of her expectations? Hadn't love fallen short of her expectations? She had always thought that, once she fell in love with someone, she would never fall out of it and they would live happily ever after. But it hadn't worked that way. She'd thought it would, with Jeff, but he hadn't loved her. How would she ever know if a man was lying when he told her…that?

She had expected fireworks. She had expected a mind-bending, mind- and world-altering experience. It hadn't been quite like that. It had been wonderful, of course, but not what she'd expected. Ginny had explained something beautiful, something beyond description. 

She wasn't certain what she'd just experienced.

Why had she done it? She was almost certain she had allowed her feelings and her emotions to get ahead of her, as she knew she wouldn't have done it otherwise. She might have experienced a softening of feelings towards Draco, but she certainly didn't love him. His kisses went straight to her head and left her feeling very off-balance; it hadn't helped that they just had their first fight, and that he'd shown an extremely vulnerable side of himself at the same time. 

At least he hadn't called out someone else's name when he came, she reflected, closing her eyes. That would have been horrible, utterly horrible. Then again, he hadn't called out anything; he'd just kissed her again, as she was about to say something herself. What it was, she didn't know—or rather, couldn't remember. A small smile was on her face as she drifted off to sleep. 


	10. A Beautiful Spring Day

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Chapter Ten: A Beautiful Spring Day_

Three weeks. There had been three weeks of enduring siege after siege of reporters, and friends, and_ Ron_, and everyone else in the whole bloody world. Everyone who thought they had a right to know about her life and who she was sleeping with. Did they need her to scream it out on the top of Ministry to accept the fact that she was not getting back together with Ron?

She loved him, yes. But even if he wanted her back, it was too late. He had made a choice three years ago, and if he was worried about the consequences now… Well, he should have thought further ahead. Whether he liked it or not, she had moved on. First it had been with Jeff—and now, amazingly, it was with Draco. She'd known it when they had first slept together that it hadn't just been sex. There had been something in the way he had kissed her, as though he was telling her this wasn't just for one night, it wasn't something he was going to regret in the morning—and it wasn't something he wanted her to regret either.

It hadn't been the last time. Even if they hadn't had sex each night, they still slept together. It was as though Draco's room didn't exist for any other purpose than to store his clothes. In a way, she was glad. She knew she would have been hurt if he had done anything else. Sharing such an experience with him, for the first time—it wasn't something she had expected, in more ways than one.

If nothing else, she had expected it to be Ron. And if not Ron, then Harry, if for no other reason than because they were her best friends, and she knew them better than anyone.

She didn't know Draco. She had known Malfoy. But somehow, he'd changed in the past five years, in more than just which side of the war he supported. His attitude had changed. He seemed almost _nice, and it was disarming. She didn't know how to ask him to open up to her. He'd opened up to her that night, that very memorable night, but he hadn't opened up again. They had small-talk, they'd appeared in public together at another Ministry ball, and they'd spoken about finances—but they hadn't just _talked_. She was only going to stand it for so long. She needed to talk to him._

Hermione sighed, tearing her eyes away from the window and focusing back on the case. It wasn't something she'd been used to with the work at her firm, but it wasn't something she was against, either. It just wasn't something she was incredibly interested in.

Therefore, she was extremely grateful when a knock came on the door, disrupting her work.

"Come in," she said, looking up. She smiled. "Draco; what are you doing here?"

Draco smiled at her and leaned against the doorframe, holding up a basket. "Bringing you a picnic lunch; what else would I be doing?"

"A picnic," Hermione repeated, raising her brows. 

Draco grinned. "A picnic," he said. 

"Where are we going to eat it?" Hermione asked, rubbing her forehead tiredly. 

"Hogwarts," Draco said, coming forward into the office and glancing around. "Alicia was able to get the Headmistress to agree to let us eat on the grounds. Of course, it might have been easier seeing as how you _were McGonagall's favorite student. Nice office."_

"Hmm?" Hermione asked distractedly. "Oh. Thanks." Her stomach gave a growl and she smiled. "I'm rather hungry; didn't have much to eat for breakfast, I'm afraid."

"Let's go then," Draco said, holding a hand out to her. She took it slowly, meeting his eyes with a blush. They may have had intimate relations, but she was still nervous around him. They walked out of her office and down the hall, past the secretary's desk and into the lift that took them to the main level. From there they headed to the Floo, where Draco said they were going to The Three Broomsticks. She arrived quickly, only having the smallest amount of soot on her black robes. Draco stepped out of the fire gracefully only two seconds behind her. 

Hermione looked around the room the owner of the Three Broomsticks had set aside for those arriving and departing by Floo. It was guarded by a solitary wizard who had fallen asleep on duty, propped up on a chair. She tapped her fingers on her thigh in no recognizable pattern, walking into the main room. 

It was quiet, as it was a weekday, but the pub was still quite full. No doubt it was people off for their lunch break—people who were obviously not too busy to take note of the most-talked-about couple of the past three weeks. The two walked in silence to the lake in front of Hogwarts, where they could see the castle and a few students lingering outside. Draco pulled a flannel sheet out of the basket he had been carrying and spread it on the ground, motioning for Hermione to sit down before placing the basket upon it and following suit. 

Hermione smiled warmly at him, noting the students closer to the school and the reporters fighting with the barriers at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. She nodded towards them. "They never give up, do they?"

Draco smirked. "No, they don't. You'd think they were vultures, the way they cling for a story."

"I seem to remember you were rather friendly with one yourself back in fourth year."

Draco cringed. "Please don't remind me of that horrid woman."

"You seemed to like her at the time," Hermione teased.

"I was a poor, misguided child," Draco said, frowning and shaking his head. 

Hermione laughed before motioning to the basket. "So, what do we have to eat?"

"Well," Draco began, reaching into it, "bananas," he pulled them out, "sandwiches, Butterbeer…" He smiled, placing the items between them. "And strawberries and chocolate," he finished, taking the final, delectable items and placing them just out of her reach.

"What are you doing with those?" Hermione asked, her eyes dancing.

"They're dessert," Draco exclaimed, his eyes widening innocently, "We can't eat them before we eat lunch."

Hermione laughed and jumped forward, knocking him to his back. Her hair—loose, as was her custom for the past three weeks—fell around his face, curtaining them away from the world. Hermione leaned down, capturing his lips with hers. Weeks earlier, she would never have imagined doing something so bold—no matter how confident she was with people, she'd never been confident (or even comfortable, really) with physical intimacy.

Three weeks with Draco had, quite obviously, changed that. 

Draco kissed her back, letting her take the lead as she buried her hands in his hair and settled herself on top of him. They both knew they wouldn't be able to take it very far, but surely a little snuggling wouldn't be completely amiss. 

When she finally pulled away, she was grinning. "Have you changed your mind yet?"

Draco raised a brow. "I don't know; I think I might need a repeat performance."

Hermione rolled her eyes, opting to grab a banana and begin to unwrap it. "Mmm," she sighed, biting into it. "Delicious."

Draco scowled. "You're trying to make me jealous of a _fruit, and I won't stand for it."_

Hermione laughed. "I am not!"

Draco didn't respond, starting on his sandwich. He wasn't particularly fond of bananas in any case. 

Hermione finished her banana before she started speaking again. "Draco," she began, "What was your favourite thing about Hogwarts?"

He looked at her. "About what?"

"Hogwarts," she repeated. 

"That's rather broad, Hermione," Draco said, taking a sip of the Butterbeer. "But I suppose I'll take a try at it." He looked past her, at the lake. "Probably the simplicity of it. When I left, I felt like I was being forced to grow up."

Hermione looked at the large building she had lived in for seven years, and sighed. "I agree. You never realize how wonderful it is to be a child until it's over."

"When were you ever a child?" Draco asked, raising a brow. 

 "You find time, in between studies and saving the world," she said loftily. 

"Right." Draco grinned and rolled onto his back, patting the ground by his side. "Come here, Hermione," he said. She scooted over and snuggled up to him. 

"This is nice," she sighed. 

She didn't know how long they lay there, nor did she care, but after a while, she noticed Draco's eyes drifting shut. She realized that she was lying next to Draco, and he was lying on the ground… And she realized that she didn't want to get up. She wanted to stay there, at Hogwarts…

With Draco.

It was an amazing revelation. Just four weeks earlier she had been loath to call him by his first name. A little more than four weeks earlier and she would have growled at him, given the chance. But now… Now she wanted his company. Now she felt comfortable with it. Now she actually _liked him, and, she feared…_

She was beginning to love him.

She knew it was ridiculous. She shouldn't be thinking about _loving Draco Malfoy. The only reason she had married him was because of her blasted pride—and he'd only married her because of that stupid will. If it hadn't been for the will, she never would have kissed him, or slept with him, and they would have been mere acquaintances who could barely stand each other's company. _

But why was she only realizing this now? Why was she admitting she loved him _now? If she had at all, it should have been three weeks earlier, when she'd slept with him. Even then, however, she could only admit to somewhat liking him. She feared she may have let her emotions get the best of her at that point. _

Now it was different. Now they had a chance—something she wasn't planning to let go of. She could only hope he felt the same.

***

Draco folded up the flannel sheet, watching Hermione as she stood looking out at the lake, her arms wrapped around her waist. She hadn't eaten very much, but that was understandable; he hadn't either. 

In the past three weeks, they'd had as much fun out of bed as in it. They'd learned so much about each other, each other's thoughts, memories, ideas… It was amazing. He had never imagined learning so much about another human being. He didn't even know such things about his aunt, and he was closer to her than he had ever been to anyone else. 

Except, apparently, Hermione. 

She was different. She was different from everyone he knew. She handled things differently. She had different hopes and ideas. Different dreams. 

She didn't want power, precisely. At least not for herself. She wanted it for other people, but all she wanted was to help that happen. She didn't care if she never got a cent of money; the only reason she had been worried about it before was because she was practical—she knew she had to eat. 

Simply put, she amazed him. And that was rather humbling.

"Hermione," Draco called, placing the sheet in the basket and standing with it. She turned toward him sharply, walking quickly.

"Sorry," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's been years since I've been to Hogwarts and it was nice to relive memories…" She paused, a corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. "Some of them. I'm afraid you were a bit of a bastard back then."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We've already been through this. Besides, I'm not now. So if I ask you to take my arm, will you say yes?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Of course," she said, moving to take it. 

The walk passed quickly, the tension broken with their teasing and reminiscence of days at Hogwarts. Before they knew it they were back in the Three Broomsticks' Floo room.

"You go on ahead," Draco said. "I took the rest of the day off, so I'll be going to the Manor. I'll see you tonight." He leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead, his lips lingering a few seconds longer than the last time he had. 

The corners of Hermione's lips lifted. "Until later, then," she said, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace. "Until tonight, Draco," she whispered to him, her eyes twinkling, and nodded at the now-awake security guard before stepping into the fire and yelling "Ministry of Magic!"

Draco turned from the fireplace and walked back into The Three Broomsticks. What he had told Hermione wasn't strictly true. He _had_ taken the rest of the day off, but he wanted to talk to Ginny Weasley before he went back to the Manor. "Excuse me!" he asked a nearby waitress. "Where can I find Ginny Weasley?"


	11. When All Bets Are Off

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Chapter Eleven: When All Bets Are Off_

"Excuse me!" Draco asked a nearby waitress. "Where can I find Ginny Weasley?" 

"Oh, she's probably off by now," the short, young blonde said, nodding back to the kitchen. "She cooks from six in the morning till two in the afternoon. She's the best cook we've had in a while; we've actually expanded the menu, thanks to her. Oh!" The girl grinned, looking back at him. "Looks like you were lucky; she's right over there." She nodded towards the back of the pub. 

"Thanks," Draco said, walking back to the youngest member of the Weasley family. "I need to talk to you," he said, stopping right in front of her. 

Ginny looked up at him, raising a brow. "Really."

"Yes," he said. "Would you like to have a bite to eat?"

Ginny made a face. "No thanks; I don't think I could stomach it at this point. I've been around food since five." She started walking towards the door.

Draco hurried to catch up with her. "I thought you didn't get on till six."

"What, interviewing the staff about me now?" She scowled at him. "Haven't changed a bit, Malfoy, have you?"

"Listen, Ginny."

"Oooh, calling me by my first name now. Good choice, but I really don't think that's going to work," she spat, increasing her speed.

Draco lengthened his stride, easily keeping up with her. "Ginny, I need to talk with you about Hermione."

"Malfoy," Ginny said harshly, stopping and turning to face him, "I'm not talking to you about Hermione, get it? I don't know what you did, but she's changed. I don't know why she married you, but I don't think it was her choice, because there is no way in hell she would marry someone who terrorized her _and_ her best friends for seven years! One day she's madly in love with a guy she's been dating for two years, and the next she runs off and gets married to YOU, of all people! It's nice to see Hermione do something impulsive for once, but not when it concerns a marriage to Draco Malfoy."

"Ginny," Draco tried to interject again.

"No! I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen! I don't like you. In fact, I think it would be correct to say that I _hate you. You've done something to Hermione, and I don't like it. If it's a spell or an enchantment, I will get you. If I have to pull some strings or give a few bribes, I will get you. Jeff was the best thing to happen to Hermione in a long time, and I don't like the fact that you screwed it up by getting her to marry you," Ginny paused, taking in a deep breath. _

"Ginny, I didn't do anything to her," Draco said angrily. "She chose to marry me of her own free will. And maybe you're overestimating just how good of a thing Jeff was for Hermione. She told me about Jeff last week; she told me _everything_ about Jeff. I don't care whether you think I haven't changed, but I want you to know that I care about what happens to Hermione. It _hurt me to see her crying over some bastard who didn't give a damn about her._

"I didn't put any spells or enchantments on Hermione. If she's changed, it's because we've both changed. Getting married does that to people." Draco took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you because I wanted to ask you to come to dinner at Malfoy Manor tonight. You're Hermione's best friend, and I think she needs one right now." Plus it was one of those nice things men supposedly did for their wives, but that was beside the point. 

Ginny's expression of anger had changed during his succinct speech; it was now one of confusion. "I'll accept the invitation, but my opinion of you has yet to change significantly. Maybe it _will change, but I'll be the judge of that myself." Ginny nodded at him and walked away, towards Hogwarts. _

"Where are you going?" Draco called after her.

"To see Neville Longbottom," Ginny called back, "_Not that it's any of your business, of course."_

"Of course not," Draco said under his breath. He stared after Ginny for a few minutes, his hands in his pockets. It was amazing how protective she was of Hermione… Almost like a mother hen looking after her young. Ginny _was_ a Weasley, after all. She had as large a temper as her brother's—it was just harder to light it—and no doubt a heart as big as her mother's. Not that he'd ever met Mrs. Weasley formally, but he'd heard of her, and knew that the Weasleys had practically adopted Potter into their already-large family. 

He wasn't entirely certain what had provoked him to invite her. Maybe it was the way their relationship had progressed. He wanted to make sure she knew not only what she was doing, but that she wanted to do it. Despite his lack of them, Draco had a feeling that was what real friends did—and he had no doubt the friendship between Hermione and Ginny was a true one. Well, plus the fact that there was no way he was inviting Weasley, and Potter was on his honeymoon… With Draco's former best friend.

Ah, Pansy. There had been a time when he had thought he would fall in love with her and marry her eventually. Had hoped it, even, as Draco had known that Lucius fully endorsed a marriage between them. He was actually surprised that Lucius hadn't demanded he marry Pansy, instead. But Lucius had no doubt noticed how close Draco and Pansy had gotten…

"Dear Merlin," Draco whispered. That was it. That was the catch. Draco had never needed to marry Hermione. No where in the will had it said that Pansy was not free to do what she pleased with the money—meaning that she could very well have given it back to him. _Or… that Pansy and Draco could have married. Obviously not anymore, now that Pansy was married to Harry, but when Lucius had drawn up the will, it had been extremely possible. _

Lucius had never expected Draco to marry Hermione. He had no doubt fully expected that Draco would have passed over Hermione and gone directly to Pansy. Knowing the workings of his father's mind as intricately as he did, Draco also had a feeling that Lucius had wanted Hermione to feel stupid and shameful and poor, giving her the opportunity of more money than could be made in one lifetime before taking it all away in the blink of an eye…

Or the signing of a marriage contract. At least in Lucius' mind. 

That meant that they could get divorced. They would both be free to live their lives as they pleased, where they pleased, when they pleased… and with whom they pleased. If Hermione had really had a choice—and despite what he had told Ginny, he knew it hadn't really been one—she never would have married him. She thought she had no choice. She was the owner of a firm that was barely paying for itself, her roommate was moving out, and her boyfriend had cheated on her. He was no doubt looking like quite a good catch—but for all the wrong reasons. 

It was amazing. Just four weeks earlier, he would have jumped at the chance to end the marriage—or not even start it at all. But now, he was debating whether to even tell Hermione. Since she had been hired at the Ministry, she wouldn't have money problems, and he would probably give her a nice fee for the divorce, as well. 

But he didn't want to. Things were happening that he wasn't certain he _wanted_ to happen, but didn't want them to stop happening either. The past three weeks had been amazing. They had been Heaven. Simply wonderful, simply… simple. 

She trusted him. She had trusted him enough to give her something she hadn't given to anyone else, and it touched him. Right there, in the heart he thought would never feel real love for a woman.

Real love. 

It was funny, in a strange way. Who would ever have thought that Draco Lucius Malfoy would fall in love with Hermione Granger?

Because he knew that was what had happened. Why else would he be having doubts about divorcing her? 

He had fallen in love with Hermione Granger. 

To say the least, it was a shocking revelation. He couldn't believe it. He was even more shocked than when he had realized that he'd never had to marry her in the first place. 

But the signs were all there. The signs that he'd read about in books. His heart would quicken when he saw her, he loved watching her do _anything, and he felt it when she felt things. _

Stiffly, Draco forced his legs to move back to the Three Broomsticks. As though in a daze, he walked through the main room and back to the Floo room, nodding at the guard before taking a handful of the powder and yelling "Malfoy Manor!" He stepped out of the fireplace, shooed off a house elf who asked him if he wanted anything, and walked straight towards his room—his real room, the one he'd lived in for nearly twenty years before his father had died during his incarceration in Azkaban. 

"Draco?" Alicia asked, stepping in his path.

Jerking out of his faze, he moved his eyes to her face. "Yes?" he asked calmly.

"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly. "You look like you could use a dunk in some ice-cold water or something. Or maybe a nice warm bath."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Just like you to contradict yourself."

"One of my amazing personality traits," Alicia grinned cheekily at him. "So, do you need something?"

Draco opened his mouth to say no, but paused. Alicia was like a mother to him, and had certainly taken over the job admirably after Narcissa had died. "Can I talk to you?" Draco asked slowly.

Alicia's playful demeanor became more serious and she slung an arm around her nephew. "Of course," she said, starting to walk down the hall, towards the stairway. "What is it?"

"What happens if… If you're in love with someone… But… Merlin, I don't know how to explain this," Draco said, frustrated. 

Alicia quirked a brow. "From the beginning would be nice. I'm going to assume this is Hermione we're talking about, right?"

"Of course," Draco grumbled. 

She smiled. "That's good. If it hadn't been, I would have been forced to rid your father of his only heir. Hermione's a good girl. So, what's on your mind, Draco?"

"My father set up his will so that either I had to marry Hermione, or Pansy would get all the money, but I would be stuck with all the property. And I couldn't sell the property unless I was married to Hermione. So we got married. We hated each other in Hogwarts; I'm sure you remember me telling you about her and Potter and Weasley." Alicia nodded. She well remembered his temper tantrums. "So we get married, her for reasons that I won't mention, me because of the will, and we were doing fine—but the past three weeks have been…" Draco trailed off.

"You've started to care," Alicia whispered, a faraway look in her eyes.

"How do you know?" Draco asked curiously.

"It happened to me," Alicia said quietly. "Not the same thing of course, but I know how it works. You know what they're feeling, and you care. It's hard to realize that you have a heart, especially when you thought it died a long time ago."

"Why would you ever have thought yours was dead?" Draco asked. He honestly had no idea.

"I never told you; you never asked, and I never thought it was pertinent to tell you." Alicia lifted her left arm off her nephew and pulled up the sleeve to her robe, pointing at a blank forearm. "Almost twenty-five years ago, I received the Dark Mark. Twenty-four years ago I rejected it and became a spy, right around the same time Severus did."

"But-but, I never knew. You must have been a spy after he came back; why didn't I know? I was in the Order of the Phoenix as well—you must have been, if you were a spy—"

Alicia interrupted him. "I was too close to Lucius and Voldemort. Dumbledore didn't want to risk exposing me; he knew there was a leak, somewhere. He just didn't know who. This time through, it was pretty much the same thing… I was a lot higher placed than Severus."

"But Potter didn't mention you! He did that interview with _The Quibbler in fifth year; you didn't Apparate when Voldemort called you!"_

"Yes, I did. Harry didn't have the names of all of them; there were more than the ones he mentioned," Alicia said, her face hardened. "I was a spy for almost twenty-two years, Draco. After serving for so long for Voldemort, I thought my heart was gone. It was never so painful when I realized it was still there."

"But you always seemed to…" Draco trailed off, frowning.

"Love you? Of course. But that's familial love. I think I could love you even without a heart; would be expected to, even. Romantic love is much different." Alicia smiled suddenly. "But it was advice you wanted, wasn't it? Well, then. I think you should tell her how you feel."

"Are you insane?" Draco demanded of his aunt. "She would be shocked! And then she would probably laugh at me, think it a joke of some sort."

"Draco," Alicia said gently, "she trusted you enough to tell you whatever it is about Jeff that you're not telling me. Of course, I would guess that he cheated on her, but whatever; I have a thing against Jeffs. I had a bad experience in school. Anyway, she trusted you. I think that counts. She wouldn't laugh in your face if you told her."

Draco sighed, obviously frustrated. "You are no help whatsoever."

"What?" Alicia grinned. "It worked for me," she said saucily, turning around and walking back towards the guest rooms. 

"But you don't have a boyfriend!" Draco yelled after her retreating back. 

"What do you know?" she yelled back at him, not bothering to turn her head.

Draco shook his head, frowning. She was annoying, but he had to admit her advice had been good. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to follow it. It seemed too simple. Tell her how he felt. Tell her how he felt. 

Wait. How? How was he supposed to do that? Flowers? Chocolate? What did you do when you told a woman you loved her? And how was he supposed to do that? "Wait!" he called desperately after Alicia.

She turned around at the end of the hall, grinning from ear to ear as her nephew walked quickly up to her. He no doubt wanted to run. "Yes?" she asked, a smirk on her face.

"How do I tell her? Flowers? Chocolate? Is there something I'm supposed to say? I don't know how to do this!" Draco said.

"Just tell her. After dinner, I suppose, or before, if you'd rather miss…" Alicia trailed off, her smirk growing.

Draco swore, hitting the palm of his hand with a fist. "I asked Hermione's best friend to come to dinner tonight. It would be too rude to call it off."

Alicia patted Draco's shoulder sympathetically. "It's all right Draco. You'll live, I know you will." She grinned as he scowled at her. "I love you, too. Now go do whatever it is you do with your time and I'll see you at dinner. I have a book on Potions to read up on." She gave him one last grin before disappearing into her room.

Draco stared at her door for a few minutes before scowling again and turning away. He walked down the stairs, putting his hands in his pockets and staring at the ceiling in the entrance hall. The painting was beautiful, but all he saw was Hermione's face in varying degrees of emotion. Hatred, passion, love, acceptance, dislike, hunger… He wanted to tell her, he wanted to…

But he had to tell her about the loophole. He had to tell her about it before he could tell her he loved her, because if he told her he loved her, her Gryffindor nature would probably kick in and she wouldn't allow herself to divorce him because… because it would make him upset or something stupid of the sort. So he would tell her about the loophole after dinner. Yes, that would be good. 

A knock sounded on the door. Instead of waiting for the house elf to come answer it, Draco walked over and opened the door himself.

On the step was a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Next to her was a man, also wearing casual clothing, with black hair and green eyes—and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

"Draco," the woman nodded to him, a small, polite smile on her lips.

"Pansy," Draco said, nodding to her. "Potter, now, isn't it? Congratulations, Potter." At Pansy's quirk of a brow, Draco nodded to Harry. "I mean him."

"Wonderful," Pansy smirked. "We're just going to be a childish little brat, now aren't we?"

Draco took a deep breath, praying to Merlin for patience not to kill his former best friend and her husband. He could not believe that Pansy Parkinson—now Potter—and Harry Potter were standing on his doorstep.

That was it. The world had come to an end. 

He had fallen in love with Hermione, invited her best friend to dinner, had HIS best friend and her husband show up on his doorstep…

Draco cursed.

And there was a strange man walking up his driveway, brown hair flopping in the breeze. If Merlin or some other god or goddess were playing with him, he knew it would be Hermione's former boyfriend. 

The man stopped right in-between Harry and Pansy, glancing at the latter appreciatively. Harry glared at the man. "That's my wife you're looking up; back off."

"Really, Harry, I can defend myself," Pansy said, looking amused. 

"Well so long as I'm your husband, I can get angry on your behalf."

"Of course you can," Pansy grinned. "And it doesn't hurt that you look adorable doing it."

"Excuse me?" the strange man asked. "I'm looking for Draco Malfoy. He lives here, right?"

"That would be me," Draco said, stepping forward. 

"Wonderful," the man said. He then drew back his fist and hit Draco right in the chin.


	12. And the Loophole is Revealed

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

_Chapter Twelve: And the Loophole is Revealed_

"I still don't think you should have hit him," Pansy said, placing a cold washcloth on his chin. 

"Is that why you're refusing to heal my bruise?" Draco asked, forcing himself to ignore the pain that shot through him when he moved his jaw. 

"She has a point, Malfoy," Potter put in. 

"Oh, shut up," Draco said. "Besides, he was asking for it. No one punches me and gets away with it."

Potter rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "Pans, I don't think he deserves the cold compress. You should let him suffer."

Pansy paused, pulling the washcloth away. "I think you might be right, Harry."

"Am I really? I thought you were the only one who got to be right."

"Well, I do need to humour you every once in a while, dearest," Pansy replied saucily.

"She has you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?" Draco asked, looking awed. "Congratulations, Pansy."

She rolled her eyes in response. "So," she said, "where is Hermione? I haven't seen her since our wedding, and so much has happened. The last I heard, she hated you."

"And that feeling was mutual, I assure you." Even though that wasn't true anymore.

"I wanted to come home at once," Pansy said, "as soon as I saw the news, but we couldn't leave no matter how much we wanted to find out why Hermione had married you. Commitments, and all that. Harry had plenty of games to keep him busy, and he kept me busy afterwards."

"Believe us, though, it was hard not to come home," Harry said.

"Especially," Pansy said, a little grin on her face, "After we saw an issue of the _Prophet with Professor Trelawney saying, and I quote: 'I always knew they would marry after the constellations I saw in their first year. It forever broke my heart to see them fighting such an obvious attraction to each other throughout their school-years.'" Pansy started laughing, tears coming to her eyes._

"Please," Draco said, rolling his eyes, "I never looked twice at Hermione while we were at Hogwarts."

"When _did you start looking, though?" Potter asked, his eyes betraying his curiosity._

"It was the will, wasn't it?" Pansy guessed.

"How did you know about that?" Draco asked.

She shrugged. "Your father contacted me about it when he drew it up."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"It wasn't my place."

"Pansy!"

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said, stepping up next to his wife. "Calm down. What's done is done. Besides, you seemed rather willing to defend Hermione's honour when that git questioned it. Something must've happened, and I, for one, would like to know what it is."

"And I," came a voice from the doorway to the kitchens, "would like to know why my best friend and his wife are in the kitchens with my husband, who is sporting a rather bruised chin." Hermione grinned at Potter. "Come here, Harry."

Potter grinned, walking over and sweeping Hermione up into a hug that had her gasping for breath. Draco ignored the twinge of jealously he felt; he knew that Potter loved Pansy, and despite the man's other faults, Draco knew he was genuine. Besides, when had he ever been jealous of Potter before?

"Pansy," Hermione said, walking over to the blonde, "it's wonderful to see you again." She leaned forward, hugging her tightly. "I hope you and Harry had a good time on your honeymoon."

"Oh, it was wonderful," Pansy said. "But I must say, it was very interesting to hear of yours and Draco's escapades in Italian, German, and Portuguese."

Hermione blushed. 

Potter grinned. "Come on, Hermione, she's just funning you. We never heard of it in Portuguese."

Hermione smacked Potter lightly on the arm, her eyes dancing. "I don't remember you being this fun before. I do believe Pansy has done some good for you after all."

"I should certainly hope so," Pansy said, raising a brow. "I've worked hard enough on the man." Just as Potter opened his mouth, Pansy said, "And don't you dare crack a joke about that, you fiend."

Potter just smirked.

And what was _Potter_ doing, smirking? Potter never smirked. Pansy certainly had gotten him to loosen up. 

"But why _is my husband sporting a bruised chin? I do hope it has nothing to do with Harry," Hermione said, glancing at her best friend._

Draco shared a glance with Pansy. "Well…"

"You see," Pansy began.  
  


Potter rolled his eyes. "Your ex-boyfriend punched him."

"My…" Hermione's eyes widened. "Jeff. That _bastard_," she hissed. "Are you all right, Draco?"

Draco, who seemed rather amazed by her concern for his welfare, simply nodded. 

"Well, I certainly hope you taught him a lesson!"

Potter's eyes widened considerably. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who changed. Who knew you had such a vindictive streak in you, Hermione?"

"Well, the git had the presumptuousness to assume he could just walk up and hit my husband in the mouth! He deserved whatever he had coming to him. I have half a mind to go and find him to punch him myself."

Pansy raised her brows. "My, my. It looks like there may have been a very good reason for the two to marry, don't you think, dear?" she asked, directing the question towards her husband.

"Oh, very much so," Potter smirked. "Who knew those two would come to care for each other, though?"

Much to his surprise, neither jumped up with allegations to the opposite effect, which prompted both Harry and Pansy to raise brows at their respective friends. "Well, I certainly did not expect this," Pansy said. "I suppose you two didn't know about the loophole in the will, then? Or didn't care?"

"What loophole?" Hermione asked cautiously. 

"I would think that is a no," Harry said, glancing at his wife. 

"As I told Draco," Pansy said, "his father met with me when he rewrote his will. He wanted to insult you one final time, Hermione. It was, after all, your ingenious plan which foiled him in the end. Any betrayal he felt on Draco's part didn't matter, because Draco was Lucius' heir. He definitely did not want a halfblooded grandchild.

"So, in what was not quite as 'ingenious' an idea as he had thought it was, he made it seem as though Draco had to marry you. However, he did not. The will states that the money goes to me if Draco does not wed you _or if the two of you divorce. There was no stipulation for what would happen if Draco and I married—just as Lucius intended. He wanted to tempt you with the entire Malfoy fortunes and then have Draco laugh in your face. He knew that, despite his allegiances, Draco still did not like you or your friends._

"But I suppose he overestimated your intelligence, Draco, because you never figured it out, did you?"

"Not until today," Draco said, feeling rather stupid about the whole thing. "Earlier today, that is."

Hermione was staying very quiet, looking at her feet with her arms crossed.

"I think," Harry said, looking at his friend, "that it is past time we excused ourselves. We'll be finding our way out." He wasn't certain either of them heard him, so intent Hermione was on her shoes, and Draco on Hermione. He shook his head, pulling his wife with him out the door, despite her protests.

"Hermione?" Draco asked, stepping toward her hesitantly. The hesitance was what shocked him; Draco Malfoy had never been hesitant in his life.

Yet here he was, feeling as though his entire life—no, his _heart, which at the moment seemed so much more important—was depending on what she might say within the next few minutes._

"A divorce, then?" Hermione asked abruptly, bringing her head up and looking him in the eye. Her face seemed cold, her demeanour…distant. 

"Hermione," he began.

"Don't bother trying to let me off easily," she waved a hand. "I'm fine." She headed for the door. "I'll just pack and be out of your way."

"Hermione," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Don't go."

She paused. "Why not?"

"Because…" he swallowed. He was _not_ nervous. "I don't want to divorce you."

She turned around, her eyes betraying a curiosity that seemed almost more like a need, it was so fierce. "Why not?"

What the bloody hell was he supposed to say? 'Because I love you,' seemed so cliché, and completely unlike him. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, pulling her to him and kissing her fiercely. The kiss wasn't like one they'd ever experienced together, so much more longing and—maybe—affection in it. He was kissing her with a need he had never felt before, with a fear that it might well be their last, that she wouldn't care to stay now that she had a way out.

After all, she could have Weasley—or any other man of her choosing once she got a fair amount of money out of the divorce, which he fully intended to give her. She could have anyone she wanted, so why would she choose him? 

The kiss grew more desperate as it continued, and Draco knew it would escalate into something she would no doubt regret, yet he didn't care. He continued kissing her, backing her out the kitchen door, towards one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor he knew would be unoccupied. "Hermione," he whispered, pulling away from her mouth to kiss her neck. She arched against him, calling his name…

Which made it all the more shocking when she pushed him away. 

"Wha…"

"Why?" she demanded, crossing her arms and staring at him, something he could not read in her eyes.

"Why what?"

Tears came to her eyes. "I don't understand you, Draco! I thought you would be relieved that you could divorce me and still keep your father's precious money, and yet you're saying exactly the opposite! And now, you're kissing me like… Like you care about me," she whispered.

"And what if I do?" The words shocked Draco. He hadn't expected to utter them aloud. 

Hermione's mouth fell open.

Draco was immediately on guard, though he said nothing.

"Y-you…" She seemed unable to speak coherently.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, Draco," she whispered. "You care about me?"

He crossed his arms, unsure of what to say and not wishing to incriminate himself further.

She stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He tensed. "Draco?"

"Why is it so hard to believe?" he asked, looking directly into her brown eyes, eyes which were shining with—was that happiness?

She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Draco was thrown slightly off-guard. "Oh, Draco," she sighed, placing her head on his shoulder.

He had never been good at shows of affection. He still wasn't. But he could not resist hugging her back when she seemed so amenable to him. 

"Draco," Hermione said, seeming rather breathless as she pulled back. "I have to tell you something."

He waited.

"I-I rather think I care about you as well," she said. "More than care, really. I think I might love you, Draco."

Something about the sincere way she said it made Draco believe her. There was something with the way she was smiling, the way she was pronouncing the words, slowly, as though she wanted to make sure he understood what he was saying—or perhaps to make sure she said that right thing. 

She hurried on, quickly, "You needn't feel pressured to say you feel the same, of course, but if you feel you would like to try to stay married, then I would not be completely averse to the idea."

Draco smiled. He really, truly smiled. "And I completely agree with you," he said, leaning down to brush his lips across hers. "We should definitely try this marriage thing a bit more, don't you think?"

***

"What do you mean, they're making up?" Ginny demanded of her brother's best friend, who was refusing to let her go inside the imposing castle. "Why should they need to make up?"

"This is why I should do the talking," Pansy said, glaring at her husband. She turned to Ginny, saying, "They aren't making up precisely. It's really a rather long story that would best be told over a bottle of firewhisky."

"I'm not drinking," Ginny said primly.

"Why not?" Harry asked, looking bewildered.

"Because," she said, looking rather hesitant, "I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations, Ginny!" Harry grinned at her. "I didn't know you and Seamus were back together."

"If one more person makes that assumption, I am going to castrate him and tie him to a cursed broomstick, _naked_," Ginny hissed.

Pansy laughed. Loudly. "Oh, my, Ginny, what a wonderful imagination you have. We really should tell stories over firewhisky some day. Maybe after your delivery." She put an arm around the girl. "But as for Draco and Hermione, they just discovered they could get divorced if they wanted to—the only problem is, I don't think he wants to."

"So he really does care about her," Ginny said, her tone awed.

"Oh, yes, that's for certain," Pansy nodded decisively. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Hermione—like she holds the entire world and the stars in her hands. She probably holds his heart, at the very least, whether she knows it or not."

"I'm sure she does," Harry said, "she isn't entirely oblivious, after all."

"No, she's not," Pansy agreed.

"I do wonder how all of this happened, though," Ginny said thoughtfully.

"Isn't it obvious?" Pansy asked, raising a brow. "It was because of Lucius, whether he wanted it to happen or not."

"I do rather like the thought of him turning over in his grave at the thought of the grandchildren he is going to have," Harry said, a smirk on his face.

"Don't we all, Harry," Pansy said wistfully, "don't we all."


	13. Epilogue: Grave of the Underworld

Author's Note: This is Lucius' reaction. Thanks so much for the idea, **rogue solus**! *sniffs* I'm gonna miss this story… 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


_Epilogue: Grave of the Underworld_

Hades laughed, moving his piece to block Lucius' last move. "Lucius, you simply must try harder. I saw that move twenty minutes ago."

Lucius scowled, but said nothing. 

"Hades!" a woman called from a few floors above. "I believe there is something Lucius needs to see, darling."

"Oh, is it that time already?" Hades asked, looking very interested. 

"What does this have to do with me?" Lucius asked, immediately on guard. He hadn't been in the underworld for long, but already he knew not to trust Hades farther than he could throw him—which, admittedly, was not far. Hades was a god, after all, and no doubt weighed more than five men his own size, if not more.

Hades smirked, his features still shrouded in darkness—as they had been ever since Lucius' arrival. "Why, Lucius, you're about to see what happened to your son since your death."

Lucius' eyes lit up. Wonderful. It was about time something good happened; he would finally be able to see Draco with Pansy, just as it always should have been. It had been such a relief to find the two growing closer towards the end of the war. At least he would have Pureblooded grandchildren, unlike many of his former peers. 

"Come, Lucius," Hades said, standing. He walked up the stairs—another thing Lucius disliked about the place, the way they were everywhere, and always going on forever—to the alcove where the woman was standing. Lucius was careful to look away from her. The one time he had looked at her too long, he had nearly gone blind. She was shining brightly with a white light he could not identify. 

"Persephone, show him."

Her name was Persephone, Lucius realized. Of course. She was married to the god of the underworld, Hades. 

Persephone motioned for him to come forward and look into a large basin filled with a silvery liquid. It looked almost like a pensieve, but Lucius doubted it was. He stared at it, waiting for something to happen—and happen it did. Almost immediately, he was pulled into the basin, and he blinked, looking around. He was in Malfoy Manor.

But something was different. Something was very different. He could hear children laughing. His eyes widened. Had that much time passed? Were Pansy and Draco already having children? That was a definite relief, although they couldn't be keeping them that well in-hand if they were running around, laughing.

A child ran into the room, gasping for breath. "Mummy!" she called.

"Coming, Evelyn," a voice called back. That did not sound like Pansy. He wasn't sure who it sounded like, but that was definitely not Pansy. 

A woman walked in, brown hair contained in a pony-tail, wearing an exquisitely tailored robe. But wait—he could only think of one person who looked anything remotely like this woman…

He glanced back at the girl, who was around five years old at his nearest estimate. 

"Evelyn," the woman asked, her eyes dancing. "Whatever is the matter?"

"James is chasing me!" she said, crossing her arms indignantly.

_Oh, gods_, Lucius thought. That was definitely his grandchild. But that would mean…

"Well, where is he?"

"I don't know," Evelyn said, her gray eyes troubled. 

And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, Draco walked into the room. If he had looked at the woman and scowled at her, Lucius would have felt considerably better. However, what he did was so shocking, Lucius would have fainted if he were of the fainting type. 

"Hermione," Draco said, smiling—_smiling_! His own son was smiling at a Mudblood! And then he leaned over and _kissed_ her. Lucius was nearly ready to puke. "I've been looking for you. And how are you, Evelyn?" he asked, kneeling down to look his daughter (as this fact was quite obvious by now) in the eye.

"I'm quite well, father," Evelyn said. "However, James will not stop chasing me."

"Really?" Draco asked, his eyes widening. 

Evelyn nodded, her golden curls bouncing up and down with the ferocity of her movement. 

Suddenly, a young boy ran into the room, with black hair and blue eyes. He looked almost the spitting image of—

Dear gods, no. 

"Why, James Potter, what do you think you're doing?"

And only the god and goddess of the underworld heard the mortified screams Lucius now issued forth.

_~the end~_


End file.
